Insatiable
by Acteon Carolsfeld
Summary: AU. Vos: independent, isolated, and self-governed by absolute monarchy…until a miner turned gladiator caught the optics of its young Crown Prince. Not all is fair in love and war. Warning: MegaStar; sticky. Based on M:Origin & G1 while taking liberties. [HIATUS]
1. Prologue

**WARNING: **This chapter contains pedophilia. Read with discretion.

Disclaimer: I do not own what I do not own.

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><p><em>Prologue<em>

A strange scent hovered in the air, rising from the floor like steam. A pale veil of fume accompanied the smell, barely visible in the dark hall. Reaching upward, trickles of smoke floated lazily, and grasped for height with thin, transparent claws. They faded into the suffocating shadows of the high ceiling, where grand arches hid, swallowed by darkness.

The hall was vast, stretching far, seemingly infinite. It was empty, devoid of life. The walls were unlit, leaving only a flickering phantom fire at the very end of the hall. It did little to provide brightness, and only made the blackness of the shadows even weightier and more oppressive.

Soft, clicking sounds of fragile thruster heels briskly walking barely made enough impact in the massive chamber to echo. The footsteps were quick on the reflective surface of the floor, which took the appearance of a black, bottomless ocean, a watery grave. The mirroring effect of its flawless polish was disorientating. It made the hall look twice as steep, twice as suffocating.

A tiny flick of a movement was followed by a small glint in the dark. Light from the phantom fire bounced off the thin metal of a pair of wings. The wings were relatively small, still in growth. They needed time to harden before they were strong enough to take their owner to higher altitudes.

The wings gave another flick, and trembled.

Unease made glowing optics flicker about dartingly, glancing at all the dark corners of the hall. Joints stiff with tension, the small figure walked swiftly, only half-heartedly suspicious of what could be hiding in the inky shadows dominating his surroundings.

He did not wonder where all the guards had gone. He was too nervous to wonder much at all.

He only had one goal in mind.

His footsteps gained speed, but without increasing into a run. He was still somewhat unsteady on his peds, having only recently had his thruster upgrade. He was developing well, making progress towards maturity at a good pace. However, youth and naivety still clung to him like morning frost not yet thawed, a shrouding, chilled mist protecting his spark from the horrors of the world.

A step too wide gave him a small wobble, and he skidded in little hops to avoid a fall. His intakes hitched. The sharp sound shot through the flat silence like a spear, but it was quickly swallowed.

As though the misstep finally pushed him over the edge of fear, he started to run, his inborn grace disturbed by youthful awkwardness. His features gained more prominence as he got closer to the phantom fire, which ghosted over his plating with a cold, illuminating haze. He was slight-framed, thin-plated, and slender even compared to the other young of his kind. However, such characteristics were not disadvantages. They increased his potential for agility and speed, which were considered as most important for his kin.

He approached the end of the hall, and made a swift left. He continued to run, but spared a brief look back behind him. The fume in the air seemed to gain colour under the light of the phantom fire. It was a soft, pastel green, shifting periodically into a sinister tinge of yellow.

He shivered, and thought of taking flight to quicken his speed. He hastily decided against it, however, after running an internal analysis of the chemical composition of the strange, green smoke. He did not have enough data stored in his central processor to name the compound or its effects, which meant he could not determine if it were flammable. He took a calming cycle of air through his system, and continued on. He was probably in no immediate danger.

So far, the vapour only tickled the sensors in his wings, and left a numbing sensation.

He turned another corner, and entered a narrower hall. The light from the phantom fire dwindled, and he was eventually engulfed by the shadows cloaking the rest of his way. The darkness put him on edge. He had never encountered this thickness of black because even the walls were supposed to shine at his home. They no longer shined now, and he did not know what was different about this night that made them lose their internalized light.

Luckily, he could still see well enough to maneuver with relative ease. Everything looked awfully dull to his optics, but it was a detail best overlooked.

Turning another corner, he almost cried out in fright as a hulking figure suddenly appeared in front of him, blocking his way. However, as he made several small, jumpy skips backwards, he realized that it was a guard, standing at the mouth of the dark, long corridor leading to his creators' recharge quarters.

The guard was perfectly still and silent, standing in attention. There was no form of acknowledgement given, but what was even stranger was the lack of glowing light from the guard's optics. The lack of sound was disconcerting too, but it was not uncommon for guards to quieten their systems to the point of complete silence whilst on duty.

He hesitated for a few kliks, unable to interpret the guard's behaviour. However, his hesitation was eventually overtaken by the urgency of his original goal, and he decided to overlook this bizarre, but unimportant detail. Giving the guard a barely noticeable nod, he shuffled into the corridor. All guards made him a little uneasy. They were some of the biggest fliers. However, he knew they were loyal to Vos, the city his creators ruled.

Curiosity made him turn his head and give glances back at the guard, but he continued walking towards the doors to his creators' chambers. As he made his way down the corridor, he startled many times in realization that there were, in fact, many guards lining the walls along the sides. Some were standing. Some were slouching, and some were even sitting on the floor.

They were all still as statues, not making a sound, optics powered off.

His wings twitched and hiked up higher, trembling in greater vigor. He did not understand why the guards were all acting so strange, and that lack of understanding terrified him. His peds suddenly hit an obstacle, and he tripped, finally breaking the heavy silence with a sharp cry. Stumbling on his thrusters, his intakes hitched, and he barely caught himself from falling to the floor.

Swirling around, alarm almost startled him into a frantic mess, but he managed to rein his emotions in check. Locating the reason for his near-fall, he found a rather chunky, unidentifiable object. He stared at it with wide optics, but could not tell what it was even after scrutinizing it to the best of his abilities. Tentatively, he nudged it with the tip of a ped. It did not even wobble in the pool of unknown, liquidy substance it was lying in.

With a slight frown on his faceplate, he turned around, and was surprised to take notice of even more chunky objects littered around, gaining in numbers closer to the doors of his creators' quarters. Taking a few careful steps around them, his peds encountered more liquid, and he looked down, lips curling in displeasure. He was somewhat disgusted by the feeling of sticky wetness under his thrusters, but he walked on, slowly as to not trip over any more of those strange, large objects.

He trudged onward, and paid little attention to the weighty obstacles aside from avoiding them. He thought he recognized what some of them were, but the answers did not make sense – _could_ _not_ make sense. He ignored them, and ventured closer to the massive doors at the end of the hall. The only reason he wandered out of his quarters when he was supposed to be deep in recharge was to find his creators, and find out why his bond with them had abruptly extinguished to nothing.

Their creator-sparkling bond had been slowly fading, but it should not become fully severed before he reached full maturity.

Skipping over another chunky object that had an uncanny resemblance to an arm, he reached for the key pad at the side of the large double doors. The darkness made the elaborate strokes of Seeker cant hard to read for his youngling optics, but his vision was sharp enough to eventually pick out the different characters. Squinting and subsequently making his optics glow brighter in the dark, he slowly entered the pass-code to the doors. His fingers were shaking, though he did not quite understand why.

He was frightened, but there was no reason for the fear to be so strong. The situation was strange and confusing, yes. It made his wings twitch with jumpiness, yes, but ultimately, he was safe. He was in Vos, the most secured city on Cybertron. With the guards along the corridor protecting him and his creators, no harm could possibly befall him.

He tapped the last sequence of the pass-code, and the doors slid open with a sound akin to grinding, rusty gears. He glanced at the doors, surprised and displeased. This would not do. Everything was to be impeccable at his home. He would need to inform his creators about their doors so they could get them fixed later.

He entered, and the doors gave another sore moan as they slid closed behind him. He was once again swallowed by darkness, only his shinning optics giving away his location.

Cautiously, he took a step forward, the thruster heel of his right ped making a faint click against the floor.

His creators' quarters were as silent as the rest of the tower, but the stillness here held malevolence. He felt that if he were to extent his glossa and taste the air, it would be sharp and bitter. Scanning his surroundings, he noticed with dismay that the chamber was in a big mess. Furniture was overturned. Data pads scattered over the floor. The more fragile of frivolous objects were smashed to pieces, their original purposes unrecognizable to his optics.

His left ped took another step, and another faint click echoed in the room.

"…Hello?" He whispered, the strained tension behind the word almost seizing his vocalizer in static. He was even more anxious now. His wings were raised, and gave an especially violent jerk when a sound abruptly buzzed into existence.

It was too soft for him to decipher at first, but slowly and steadily, like spilt energon inching outwards on the floor, it became louder. It spread, crawling along the thick web of silence. He did not know where it came from, but he hesitantly labeled it as interlaced humming. Stringed together by unresolved dissonances, the twisting song seeped into his thoughts, clouding his processors as logic quickly became overtaken by emotions. His young spark pulsed erratically under a thick film of fear, prompted by the sheer absurdity of the situation.

The cycling of his intakes began to speed, making hitched, sharp gasps. Glowing optics darted about the room, wide and frightfully attentive. He remained completely still, rooted to his spot a few steps from the doors, as a light tremour began to dominate his frame.

Suddenly, without warning or any indication of previous existence, large, thick arms shot out from behind him and wrapped themselves tightly around his frame. A hand immediately clamped over his mouth, and the other arm snapped around his midsection, holding his arms immobile. All joints in his body tensed up, and he let out a terrified scream, hot energon freezing in his system. However, even as he cried out for help, all his audials caught were muffled, desperate whines.

He kicked and bucked, wings fanning out and trembling uncontrollably, but his actions did little to free him. The arms did not budge even an inch, clamped around his lithe frame. Instead, he was pressed back further, snug against a chassis much bigger than his.

"_Shhhh…_" A voice cooed beside one of his audials, and he jumped, instantly becoming still. His wings still shook, making tiny vibrations against the warm plating his back was pressed against. His captor, only then, seemed to materialize into existence. His sensors eventually picked up miniscule disturbances in the air, and he let out a tiny whimper, wondering how he could have missed the obvious clues suggesting the presence of another Cybertronian.

The intruder was big, and heavy. Thick plating was firm against his much lighter build. He could not imagine any flier mad enough to even attempt increasing their weight by adding denser metal to their bodies, which could mean only one thing:

His captor was a ground pounder.

"Calm, little one," The deep, rumbling voice soothed, "Wouldn't want your pretty little wings to fall off from all that shaking you're doing now, would you?"

His suspicion was confirmed. Only a ground pounder was stupid enough to think that a flier's wings could fall off from fearful shaking. However, this confirmation only gave rise to more questions, such as how a grounder had managed to sneak into the Royal Tower, the only building in Vos accessible only to fliers.

"I mean you no harm, pretty little Seeker…I just want to play a bit," Low laughter made his wings tremble even harder; "…Always loved them with wings…"

A jolt of terror made his entire frame rattle, and he let out a louder whimper. He did not completely understand what the grounder wanted, but it sounded as though the big mech was planning on taking his wings. If his mouth were not covered, he would argue that his wings would be useless to one as massive as his captor, but his ability of speech was inhibited, so all he ended up doing was making terrified, high-pitched whines.

"…Just want to play a bit before I let you join your creators."

At the mention of his creators, his helm perked up in hope. The movement did not go unnoticed by the grounder, who chuckled. "If you are good, I will take you to your creators." The deep voice purred, dripping in sweetness. "Will you be good for me, little Seeker?"

He nodded, eager to get away from the suffocating embrace he was forced into. So far, the grounder had not hurt him, so he would play, if only to humour the other mech enough to take him to his creators.

"Ahhh…very good…" Another chuckle rumbled beside his audials. "Now, stay still…"

The hand around his mouth loosened and fell away. It wandered downwards, and rested flat against one of his thighs.

"I'm not…I'm not sure how to play with you if you keep me so close…" He spoke in a small voice, still apprehensive about the situation. The only games he knew how to play were in the air, where the grounder would not be able to join him. Under normal circumstances, he would not have cared, but this one promised to bring him to his creators, so he had to be nice.

"Don't worry, little Seeker. I will do the playing for the both of us." The next chuckle his captor made held an ominous edge, and it immediately made terror return to his spark in a flash. However, before he could start thrashing and screaming again, the hand on his thigh moved, and slid upwards to cup firmly against his codpiece.

Confusion momentarily distracted him from calling out for help, and he frowned, the thought of squeezing his thighs together not even registering in his processors.

"What are you—"

The hand gave his codpiece a hard rub, and his sentence was interrupted by a surprised squeak.

"—Wh-What are you doing?" He wiggled, making a thin whine as a heated sensation suddenly flared between his thighs. The sensation was unfamiliar, and he was not sure whether it was supposed to be enjoyable or not. Before he could decide, the hand made another rub, and he spluttered out a small, keening sound, wiggling harder. As he shifted around, his aft came in contact with the mech behind him, and the mech suddenly moaned, startling him into abrupt stillness.

At first he thought his wiggling had somehow hurt the grounder, but when the larger mech only pressed closer, he reasoned that it was not a moan of pain. He let out a silent breath of relief through his vents. His chance of finding his creators would significantly lessen if he had somehow hurt the intruder.

Besides, this strange game was not bad. At least it was not painful. He bit back another embarrassing noise that threatened to leave his vocalizer when the hand repeated the kneading motion, reaching further inward. Fingers traced around the edges of a panel, their feather-light touches almost tickling. As the touching continued, heat began to gather in his lower region, making his spark swell and throb.

He did not know what the panel was for, only that it covered something important, which was why he only gave a questioning whimper as he felt something wet gathering behind it. For a spark-seizing moment, he thought that the rubbing had somehow injured him and that he was leaking energon, but the lack of pain quickly shot down that possibility. Curious, he parted his thighs, and tried to peek down.

The grounder, for unknown reasons, was pleased with how he had spread his thighs. Another chuckle rumbled out from behind him, and he tilted his helm slightly to the side, catching partial sight of the mech's faceplate.

The grounder wore a visor, which hardly shone, but glinted. From what he could see, the big mech had a high nose bridge and rather chiseled cheek-plates. Thin, gray lips were curling upward in a smile that did not quite look friendly. However, it was not a dangerous expression, not threatening enough to worry him with immediate harm.

"Can you take me to my creators now?" He asked, voice high and slightly shaky. "…Please?" He added only to be polite, but an unexpected reaction from the grounder silenced any other words he might have wanted to say.

With a deep growl, his captor swooped down, and pressed their lips together.

Before he could even register what was happening, a thick glossa poked at his lips, which were slightly parted from surprise, and entered his mouth.

The glossa was hot. The grounder's mouth was hot. His own frame suddenly felt hot. Everything was engulfed by heat. A few more rubs later, he felt the panel between his legs give a small twitch, and it retract with a sharp snap. The 'something wet' that was gathering behind the panel was released, and it trickled down his thighs.

The grounder gave another deep growl, and he felt the mech's big smile rather than saw it. Fingers probed at whatever it was that hid behind the panel, and he jumped, squeaking loudly.

He was extremely tender and sensitive there, and when the fingers probed again, he whined in protest, strong flares of heat and sharp sensations of pressure making him a little wary.

His captor seemed to understand his discomfort, for the fingers stopped their probing, and started to rub circles instead. It still made him jerk unevenly from sensitivity, but the pressure was gone.

As the heat in his core steadily rose, his intakes began to cycle faster to cool down his temperature. The grounder's glossa moved alongside his, becoming more insistent as the fingers rubbed faster, running over sensor nodes he was not aware he had. Little whimpers leaving his lips were muffled, and his hips began to move on their own accord, reacting to the circling motion of the mech's actions.

His spark was pounding in his spark chamber, making his core temperature climb even higher. As the sensations began to mount, a strange, straying thought started to dance around almost tauntingly in his processors.

He wanted the grounder to resume the probing.

He did not know how to ask, so he pressed downward against the fingers, and, after a few tries, the grounder caught on. The fingers made another sweeping motion, and started to push upward, their tips sinking inside him.

The sudden intrusion made him buck and whine. He was not quite in pain, but he felt a potent soreness. The grounder only pushed in two fingers from what he could tell, and those two fingers could not have gone in beyond the first knuckles. But still, it was uncomfortable enough for him to resist as the mech tried to push in further. Luckily, his captor was quick enough to catch on. The fingers retracted and dipped inside him, but never beyond what he could take.

Even with the soreness, the heat he was under did not disappear. As the fingers continued to rub and dip inside him, he was seized by an urgency that made him tremble uncontrollably. Warnings began to flash in his processors, and his intakes cycled even faster. His spark continued to swell. More liquid trickled down his thighs. More whimpers left his lips, and the grounder leaned away. Though freed to speak, he could not come up with coherent words. The only sounds leaving his vocalizer were high-pitched whimpers.

The fingers moved faster, motions made slick by the liquid now staining his thighs. His lips parted, and he made little moaning sounds. The grounder watched his faceplate with an unreadable expression, visor glinting brightly. He did not know what was happening enough to feel embarrassed about being stared at. All he could concentrate on was a sudden, apparent pressure deep inside his core, like a heated explosion waiting to happen.

Before he was ready for it, it combusted.

With a screechy, strained scream, he bucked and shook violently in the grounder's arms, optics flashing like twin supernovas in the dark chamber. A gush of liquid rushed down from inside him, splattering on the mech's hand, though the mech did not seem to mind. Shuddering and whimpering brokenly, he endured the almost painful sensations, frame jerking and intakes hitching. By the time the tide had gone, he could no longer support his own weight on his peds, limp in the grounder's arms.

"See? That wasn't so bad, was it?" His captor spoke, and his voice sounded heavy with tension, laced with static.

Not knowing the answer to that question, he wiggled weakly, and tried to shake the fogginess from his processors.

"Can you…bring me to my creators now?" He asked pleadingly.

The grounder merely chuckled.

"All in good time, little Seeker. Our game hasn't ended yet."

With one sweeping motion of his arms, the grounder lifted him up. He squeaked and flailed, not liking the sensation of being manhandled in the air, where he should be in control. He had not even steadied himself yet before the older mech strode into his creators' recharge chamber, and promptly threw him down on the berth.

His intakes made a small, cough-like sound as he landed on his back, the impact jolting his wings in an uncomfortable manner. He groaned, and tried to push up on his elbows to eliminate some of the soreness in his wing joints. Before he could do so, the invader advanced upon him, climbing onto the berth. The big bulk instantly obscured his view, but he managed to catch a few glimpses of his creators' recharge chamber.

His creators were nowhere to be seen, and he briefly wondered where they could have gone to. He did not have much time to ponder though. Lips once again covered his, and his protest was muffled as he was pushed back down onto the berth. There was too much weight on his wing joints, and he squirmed in discomfort. "Stop." He wanted to say: "Not like this." He had not minded the game when they were standing, where the grounder's movement did not hurt his wings, which had yet reached the durability of maturity. He now felt crushed under the bigger frame, the weight and shadow being a frightening reminder of how he could no longer see the high ceiling or the room around him.

He placed his palms flat on the grounder's chassis, and pushed. The intruder seemed to realize his predicament, and backed away slightly. His fans gave a spluttering sigh, relief soothing his agitated processors like energon washing away thirst of a parched throat. Without sore wing joints to distract him, he began to notice the foreign glossa in his mouth, and the hand rubbing circles on the inside of one of his parted thighs.

He shifted slightly, settling better into the berth. If they were going to continue their game, he might as well get comfortable. Trying to play his part despite his lack of understanding, he spread his thighs further, remembering that it pleased the grounder before. As he expected, the other mech gave a growl of approval. What he did not expect, however, was the grinding motion that followed.

The tender, exposed place between his legs remained uncovered. He had not even thought of issuing the command to close the panel. He made a small whining sound when the rubbing not only did not stop, but became more energetic, making tingling sensations shiver through his system. It was getting hot and wet again, the place between his legs, and he hummed in confusion. Why was he leaking there? He had not even known such a place existed prior to the night's events, but something in his spark was throbbing aside from the warmth that was once again expanding.

He could not explain what it was.

The game was strange, but it did not hurt. He was not in pain, yet he felt dread growing more prominent with each passing klik. He tried to seek reassurance in the grounder's embrace, since the mech was older and more knowledgeable. However, the closer he pulled the bigger mech towards him, the greater his trembling became.

The grounder moaned and muttered between their lips. He felt the bulkier frame on top of him grow hot. Heated air blasted out from the other's vents, and caressed his wings, stimulating his sensitive flight sensors and causing his wings to quiver. The grounder suddenly shifted from between his legs, and let out a deep groan. He answered with a bitten-back whimper, wiggling his aft in disappointment when the rubbing disappeared. The strange, somewhat pleasurable sensations were the only thing keeping him distracted from the confusion and dread in his spark.

The intruder chuckled, and he onlined his optics. He did not even notice he had offlined them. The grounder's grinning faceplate and shining visor greeted his vision, making him shiver. A sense of anticipation filled his core, but he did not know what he was waiting for.

"Relax, my little Seeker," The grounder spoke softly, voice low and deep, "Remember to relax, and you will like this."

He barely had the time to nod before something hard pressed against his soft, tender place.

Squeaking in surprise and confusion, he looked down, and felt his optics widen at the sight.

Something was protruding from the grounder's codpiece. It was not there before, and he could not fathom where it could have been hiding because it was quite large and long. Sticky liquid covered its tip, making it glisten in the dark. It was rubbing against his soft place, hard and hot.

He watched, fascinated, disgusted, intrigued, curious, and frightened. The grounder nuzzled against his neck, biting gently and licking his neck cables, but he did not notice. His entire attention was on the rod-like object as it stopped its rubbing, and slowly began to press forward.

The first sign of discomfort was a dull soreness. He felt his soft place beginning to open to accommodate the object. Then came a sharp jab of stinging pain. The object's tip was trying to reach further inwards. He immediately protested, making a high-pitched whine, trying to scoot away, but the hand the grounder placed on his hips tightened, and held him still and secure.

"Remember to relax, my little Seeker." The bigger mech said, but his voice was no longer entirely gentle. It held a rough, grainy edge, and it frightened him.

Whimpering, he bit his lips, and turned his helm so that he no longer had to watch the object invade his body. The grounder still licked and suckled his neck cables, but he barely noticed, trying his best to relax against the growing pain in his lower region.

Optics flashing in the dark, he tried to find something to distract himself with, and, by mere chance, he caught sight of another pair of optics.

They were dark, signaling that their owner was offline and unresponsive. He frowned. The faceplate the optics were on was damaged, marred by scratches and cuts, but he thought it still looked vaguely familiar…

His bright optics passed over the helm, hoping to identify who this mech was by his frame type, but their search was abruptly cut off.

At the end of the neck cables, where the rest of the mech's body should be, was nothing.

He was confused.

His optics remained on the torn neck cables, staring, lips hanging slightly apart.

Why was there nothing?

The neck cables must lead to shoulders, a torso.

They must connect to the rest of the mech's body.

Where was the mech's body?

Where was—

The scorched faceplate was suddenly very familiar.

Realization hit him so forcefully that it visibly rattled him. His optics flew back to the faceplate of the mech, recognition blaring like warnings inside his processors.

The mech was his carrier-creator.

The helm with the disconnected neck cables…It belonged to his carrier-creator.

His carrier-creator had no body.

His carrier-creator was not offline in recharge.

A small nibble on his neck cables woke him from his horrified stupor.

His carrier-creator was watching him.

A stabbing pain erupted from between his thighs as the hard object slowly advanced into his inside, readying to enter even deeper into his body.

His lips parted.

And he screamed.

A brief, startled moment of hesitation from the grounder was all he needed to shove the heavier body back enough to scramble away. Tearing himself from the intruder's embrace, he continued to scream, unable to do much else. He practically fell from the berth in his hurried escape, fear making the chamber turn on its axis and plunge his world into dizzying chaos.

The scent of drying energon hit his olfactory sensors, making his tank churn in nausea. His limbs shook, and his peds threatened to refuse support. He could barely stay upright, wings trembling so hard that they made rattling noises in the heavy, suffocating silence.

There was a reason the walls no longer shone.

There was a reason he saw no guards on his way to his creators' chambers until he almost reached them.

There was a reason a chemical residue lingered in the air, poisonous perfume swirling and dancing in deadly glee.

He cried, running blindly in the dark on unsteady peds, thrusters making loud clicks against the floor. Fingers grappling wildly, he sought desperately for escape, his blurred vision making sight an almost impossible task as coolant streamed down his faceplate.

"…Where are you going, my little Seeker?"

His wings felt the acute air current change even before the grounder's hand came down to grab him, and he shrieked, leaping in the air and thrusters sputtering on. The brief ignition of his flight system propelled him just far enough away before his terrified processors became too overwhelmed by the situation to plan a landing. He fell on the floor in an undignified pile, gasping and hysterical.

Heavy steps approached him from behind, and he lifted his helm, turning to look.

The grounder was a black, looming shape in the dark. An amused smirk lifted his thin lips under the glowing shine of his visor.

"What are you waiting for, my little Seeker?" The intruder asked, voice in a pleased lilt. "I do love a good hunt…"

He stared up at the grounder, too afraid to move. His intakes completely hitched to a stop.

"Run, Crown Prince." The intruder's smirk turned into a grin. It stretched so wide that it cut the terrifying faceplate in half.

"I want you to run."

In an instance, he pushed himself onto unsteady peds, and fled.

He ran out of his creators' chamber, slipping on the pools of energon on the floor.

He ran through the corridor, tripping and falling over various body parts of the guards.

He ran into the Great Hall, panic so strong that there was only one thought left in his processors, reasserting its dominance in his mind in a never-ending loop: get away. He barely registered the faint sound of the plating of his soft place clicking back into position. He had forgotten even his ability to fly.

'Run', the grounder had said, so he ran.

A plasma shot sailed over his helm. He yelped and stumbled, ankles wobbling on his thrusters. From the way the grounder laughed, he knew the older mech did not miss by mistake.

Frantic, he rushed up a flight of stairs, and almost tumbled. Only his quick reflexes saved him from falling back down and breaking his neck cables at the bottom. He ran as quickly as his peds could take him, wiping his vision clear with his hands when coolant pooled in his optics and fell. He dodged plasma shots by instinct alone, aided by his flight sensors of the changes in the air, and did not stop until he no longer had anywhere left to run. He was so absorbed in his terror that he did not realize where he was going until he was facing the opening to the topmost flight deck of his home, the highest tower of Vos.

He slowed to a stop, and looked out at the city.

The streets still held a very faint glow, but all the towers were dark, their inherent light lost. The start of a new cycle had yet begun, so the city was silent. Even the flight paths were empty, the drizzling acid rain discouraging any flier still awake from taking to the air.

His optics, glossy from the still surfacing coolant, looked up at the sky. Thick, dark acid clouds met his vision, shifting and writhing as though in pain. They shed agonized tears to the surface of Cybertron, and he felt his spark sink into dread and helplessness.

Another plasma shot startled him from his thoughts. It grazed his wing, and he cried out at the burn, sensors reeling from the contact. The grounder emerged from the dark, features harsher due to the shadows cast by the glow from the streets that sneaked into the tower. Optics wide and lips parted in a soundless utterance of surprise, he turned, and stared at the other mech. He could not understand how one as large and heavy as the intruder could move so silently and swiftly.

His optics flickered down, and he gaped with horror at the monstrous looking cannon the grounder's right arm had transformed into. The cannon barely emitted any sign of heat, which could only mean that it was barely activated beyond its resting mode. The scorched tip of his wing throbbed, and he shook even harder.

If even the lowest setting could cause so much pain for his light frame, what would the highest setting be capable of doing?

The grounder, chuckling, took one step forward, and he backed away in three.

He barely noticed the first splatters of rain on his sensitive plating, optics still glued to the giant cannon. His audials caught the sizzling whisper of acid eating away his polish and paint, corroding his beautiful shine and bright colours, but his processors hardly responded to the sensory input. His wings quivered, finely tuned flight sensors growing aggravated by the acidity, but he hardly noticed beyond feeling a full, potent burn.

The grounder followed, equally oblivious to the acid rain. The grin grew wider and more feral, and the visor shined even brighter, predatory glee making the bulky frame tremble with excitement.

His intakes hitched, and he let out a terrified whimper, the abruptly severed creator-sparkling bond in his spark aching like a lonely, black hole. He wrapped his arms around himself, and came to a stop midway on the takeoff deck.

The grounder slowly walked forward, and the massive cannon gave a slightly pinched whirr as it powered up.

"What a shame, really," The larger mech said, voice lighthearted and nonchalant as he lifted his cannon arm, "For such a pretty little thing to be wasted for scrap metal."

The cannon activated. Its dark barrel grew blindingly bright, a charge swiftly gathering. His optics gazed into the mesmerizing light. His processors screeched to a halt as fear seized his body.

His spark was what reacted.

With a sharp jolt, he suddenly found himself dashing toward the grounder. The grounder took half a step backwards, and grunted in surprise. Seeing the opportunity, he jumped, wings catching the wind. Their bodies collided, and he flung himself onto the larger mech, pressing his lips on top of the intruder's parted ones.

Arms latching around broad shoulders, he frantically sought for the other mech's glossa, licking and sucking messily. Coolant washed down his faceplate from his optics, mingling with the acid rain. He mimicked what the ground pounder had previously done to him, and rubbed his hips forward, grinding their codpieces together.

The intruder growled, and tried to pull back to push him away, but he whimpered needily, pressing closer.

Only a few kliks passed before the intruder returned his gestures, and a hot mouth responded to his clumsy kiss. A large hand cupped around his aft, holding him in place, and squeezed gently, making him emit a sharp squeak. The intruder's visor still shined, and he hastily offlined his optics, not wanting to see his actions being observed. The grounder chuckled, and their kiss deepened.

Their glossas intertwined, one desperate and one amused. The grounder's other hand, no longer a cannon, roamed shamelessly over his intimate parts. Unlike their previous encounter, he did not feel heat, or the strange, somewhat pleasant tingle. He slid his arms down from the shoulders they were latched onto, and wrapped them tightly around the other mech's midsection. His spark pounded fearfully in his spark chamber, and his processors finally caught on to what his instinct had dictated him to do to preserve his life.

He pulled back, and his optics flickered on.

The grounder wore a smug smirk on his faceplate, his bigger bulk blocking most of the acid rain. Droplets of clear liquid slid down from the mech's hulking form, falling much like the coolant still staining his cheek-plates.

He stared up at the ground pounder, for a moment studying the harsh, cruel features. His arms tightened further around the bigger mech's torso, and he abruptly activated his thrusters.

They shot off the flight deck.

The smug smirk fell from the grounder's lips, and shock replaced the previous expression of amusement. He simply watched the changes in silence, entertaining the thought of crying out in triumph. He felt like laughing, celebrating, but he only stared, tears continuously pouring out of his optics. They floated in the air for the briefest moment until his thrusters spluttered off, and only air remained beneath them.

They fell, gravity mercilessly tugging them down, and, once again, his spark pounded in fear. However, his processors no longer responded, a blank slate devoid of thought. He merely watched the grounder's expression of astonishment with detached fascination, and reveled in the way the air rushed past his flight sensors. His instinct screamed at him to activate his thrusters, to take flight to avoid deactivation, but he ignored them, tears flung from his faceplate by the howling wind.

They both fell, the grounder's dead weight pulling them down from the highest tower of Vos.

His wings shifted on their own to accommodate the different air currents surging past their bodies in attempts to keep them from falling. Their movements were second nature, so he barely noticed them. He kept his attention on the grounder's faceplate, wishing to see what the last moments of life looked like.

Would he see fear? Regret? Or perhaps desperation?

No.

The grounder threw his helm back, and laughed.

The murderer of his creators laughed, and wrapped his thick arms around his thinner frame.

"Don't worry, my little Seeker," Amusement returned, making the visor twinkle. "My bulk alone is cushion enough to save your cute little aft from falling to death." The grounder smirked, and looked awfully pleased even as the ground rushed closer towards them.

"…You're too pretty for your own good, y'know that?" The visor watched him, admiring his beauty in the last kliks before death. "So, I'll let you live."

They crashed, the deafening sound of impact almost splintering his auditory sensors.

Even then, the ground pounder's smirk remained, unashamed and delightful.

The visor flashed for the last time, and blanked into darkness.

He stayed lying on top of the deactivated body, and he did not know what to do.

He stayed there, motionless, silent, as the rain continued to fall.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes:<strong> Whew! Hope this was okay! This entire prologue was inspired by the first five minutes of "Sucker Punch", more specifically the music. I really enjoyed that movie despite the reviews it was getting. Its soundtracks were repeatedly listened to throughout the writing of this story.

And speaking of that…

There will be two Volumes to this arc. Most of Vol. I is already finished (since the past summer, actually), but it still needs extensive editing. Everything after the prologue will be in first-person POV, as narrated by Starscream. The story starts before the war, and will contain chronological jumps.

Some things to note about this AU:

Femmes: There will be no femmes in this story. I don't see why the Cybertronians, being a genderless species, would have gender conscious distinctions and/or employ gender-issued pronouns prior to close interactions with organics, hence why all cannon "femmes", when mentioned, will be addressed as "he" by default.

Time: I watched this video a little while back, and, apparently, time moves slower on bigger planets compared to smaller ones (eg. Time on Jupiter is slower than time on Earth; please don't ask me why because I have no clue whatsoever XD), so I've decided to use this for Cybertron vs. Earth as well. I'm not particularly concerned about how long a Cybertronian second is in accordance to Earth time, especially since Vol. I takes place entirely on Cybertron, which is why I've decided to use corresponding names to make things simpler. This basically means a "klik" to a mech is equivalent to, or feels like, an Earth second does to a human, and so forth. The terms are as follow:

_Klik_ – second

_Breem_ – minute

_Joor _– hour

_Cycle _– 1 day (not to be confused with "night cycle", which just means night-time)

_Deca_ – A week

_Stellar_ – half a year

_Meta_ – 1 year

_Vorn_ – 10 years

I think, this way, it'll give everyone a better grasp of how long these time values feel to a Cybertronian instead of how they would relate to us as humans.

Robot Sex Ed. 101: As you already know, this fic will contain sticky interfacing. It's pretty standard: mechs have both a spike and a valve/port, yada yada yada. Sparklings though can only be conceived by bond mates. The initial spark merge that binds two mechs together will not result in a new spark. However, all consecutive spark merges the two bond mates have whilst interfacing will result in sparking.

That's everything I can think of to say at the moment. Hopefully I haven't scared you off with all this reading. I look forward to sharing the rest of the story with you, and, if you could, leaving a review for me would be wonderful.

Thanks for reading! : )


	2. I, II

**NOTE:** Many, _many_ vorns have passed since the prologue. Starscream is now fully matured. There will be clues as to where in the timeline the story is currently situated. Please enjoy :)

Disclaimer: This chapter makes references to _Megatron: Origin_, which I do not own. I own…very little.

* * *

><p>I<p>

As always, everything began with Skywarp.

"Hey! Look what I have!" He called out as soon as the doors to our common trine quarters slid open, optics twinkling and lips stretched into a wide grin.

"That's never good to hear." Thundercracker mumbled, and Skywarp gave a half-sparked huff of annoyance.

"Don't be such a little glitch, TC."

Thundercracker pursed his lips at the comment, but chose to not regale it with a response. He got up from his perch by the window, and made his way towards our purple trine mate.

I had to agree with Thundercracker's sentiment. Every time Skywarp sneaked anything he deemed worthy of seeing into Vos, at least one of us got into trouble. Most of the time, that one was Skywarp, which meant _I_ always ended up having to use my authority to bail him out of confinement. Sometimes I honestly did not understand why I decided to take that troublemaker into my trine in the first place. Luckily for Skywarp, that thought was often banished when we fly together, hence his continuous position in my trine.

Skywarp was the only Seeker in all of Vos aside from Thundercracker that had the ability to keep up with me. The way I stumbled upon him was little more than a fluke. Skywarp came from the lower class, and he had very mediocre performance in his academics. Had he not simply popped into existence right in front of my nosecone on that fated cycle while I was taking a leisure flight, I would have never met him.

Studying the way his optics glimmered, I once again found myself wondering if his unique ability was truly worth all the troubles it has caused. Being a Cybertronian with the rare gift of teleportation, Skywarp often wandered outside my city without permission, and returned with sometimes downright horrifying things to show us, his only available but unwilling audience. Looking at him now, I could not stop myself from making a frown of suspicion. He was barely able to contain his mirthful amusement, optics flashing brightly and sparkling with mischief, an expression that rarely boded well for the rest of Vos.

Thundercracker always worried about the legality of Skywarp's purchases, and I grew to doubt that most of them were purchases to begin with. Despite his worry and my disapproval, Skywarp continued to teleport out of Vos to venture the cities of ground pounders, finding things to show us. This was still better than Skywarp growing bored and setting up elaborate pranks. At least, that was what I kept telling Thundercracker.

"Come closer!" He gestured at me, plopping down on Thundercracker's berth. I sighed through my vents, and reluctantly put down the data pad in my hands. My little experiments would have to wait, or else Skywarp would start to whine, and that was extremely annoying.

"What is it this time?" I drawled, already visibly displeased, standing over his shoulders with my hands on my hips.

I had never been particularly interested in anything Skywarp found exotic enough to bring back. I was allowed a large portion of my life away from Vos to study in the science academy at Iacon, and later participated in a space expedition. My extended travels meant there was hardly anything that surprised me anymore, and this was why I was already prepared to be unimpressed as I waited for him to take out whatever it was that excited him to such an extent. In hindsight, I really should have known better than to dismiss him so quickly, especially judging by the enthusiastic twitching of his wings. After all, he had never been quite so giddy all previous times he caught the need to show us his findings.

"Guess where I went _this_ time on my little trip." He grinned, expression ridiculously expectant as Thundercracker settled down beside him.

"Where?" Thundercracker frowned, not in the mood for guessing games.

Skywarp was apparently not in the mood for guessing games either. He swung his arms out wide, almost hitting Thundercracker in the faceplate, and answered with dramatic exclamation:

"The City of Kaon!"

"Kaon? Are you crazy, 'Warp? You could've gotten killed!" My blue trine mate's optics widened, and he looked like he wanted to swat Skywarp on the helm.

I chose not to comment. While Thundercracker's concern for Skywarp's welfare was sweet, I highly doubted any stupid grounder could catch a teleporting Seeker, despite the said teleporting Seeker not being that much smarter.

"Well, I didn't get killed," Skywarp brushed aside Thundercracker's worrying words with a shrug, and took out a hologram-video disk from subspace. "I did manage to get this though, which was fraggin' hard to get, by the way! I had to fight many ground pounders and kick many afts."

Thundercracker's lips pressed into a thin line in an attempt to look stern, but even a sparkling could tell he was curious about the content of the holo-vid.

"What is it?" I asked, leaning down a little for a better angle, but abruptly stopped when a recent memory file resurfaced in my processors. "…It's not another one of those disgusting interface simulations, is it?" My faceplate must have reflected the disgust in my voice because Skywarp took one look at me, and laughed.

"Hey! That was a good simulation!" He laughed some more, "But nah, this isn't it. This is completely something else." He placed the disk on top of his thighs, and pressed the necessary buttons to turn it on. "Just watch." He smiled, optics giving me an unreadable glance.

I frowned. Skywarp was looking too clever for my comfort, but Primus-be-damned if I was going to let him know it. I was glad when he finally grew bored with his staring, which was beginning to unnerve me, and comm.-ed the brightness of the room to decrease by eighty-percent. Leaving the chamber in a soft glow, he turned away, and activated the holo-vid.

At first, only static appeared, and I scoffed.

"How incredibly engaging, Skywarp, a holo-video of static. I have never been more amazed in my humble existence."

"Shut up and wait, you slagger."

"I can order permanent confinement on you for that."

"But you won't, your high royal-ness Prince Starscream of the Crown." Skywarp gave me a cheeky grin.

"That's 'royal highness'." I huffed through my vents and crossed my arms, saying nothing else. I did not need to encourage his insolence by confirming his belief that nothing would happen to his aft as long as I remained his trine leader.

The static quickly cleared, and blurry images sharpened into mechs, the sound abruptly picking up into a loud roar of voices.

"Turn it down!" Thundercracker protested as he covered his audials with his hands, glancing worriedly at the door, and Skywarp did what was asked with a grumble. I ignored their antics, the content of the video quickly gaining my attention.

The quality of the holo-vid was amateur at best. The contrast was low, giving the visual a bleak appearance. The faded colours did not help its overall appeal, and static jumped at the corners every once in a while. However, all of those features dissolved into the background as a mech, undoubtedly the protagonist, came into view.

How hideous, I thought, lips curling into a sneer at the dull and scratched paintjob coupled with gaudy splashes of peeling red. Cracks adorned his chipping armour, and stain marks left dark spots all over his frame. He was even bulkier than most ground pounders I have had the misfortune of meeting with, which definitely added to my general distaste towards him. Grounded mechs were so unappealing. Even the largest of fliers, the Space Shuttles, had graceful lines.

I felt compelled to look away. The number of different solvents this unfortunate mech would need in order to scrub all that grime off from his body was astronomical, and that was not counting all the cosmetic repairs he would definitely need to allow him even the resemblance of being presentable in respectable company. However, despite my helm turning the other way, my optics stayed on the video, unable to stop watching.

There was something attractive about the way the mech moved. Though his mannerism could only be described as ungraceful lumping compared to that of Seekers, he was quick for a grounder, his attentive swiftness only outmatched by his viciousness as he dealt blows to his opponent's frame.

I turned my helm to directly face the video.

What was this, some pathetic attempt at an entertainment simulation?

I asked Skywarp just that, and he glanced at me with a wicked grin.

"C'mon Screamer, do you honestly think anyone with a half-working processor would watch such scrap unless it was real?"

I almost hit my trine mate on the back of his helm for calling me by such an atrocious nickname before his words fully sunk in. When they did, my intakes hitched, stalling to a stop. My raised hand lowered, and I turned back to the video, optics widening.

"…Real?" I repeated in a whisper, attention glued to the ugly mech as he plunged his energon sword into his opponent, features twisted into a feral scowl. The camera zoomed in for a closeup, and—

Oh sweet Primus-forbid, he had the same type of peeling red paint found on his body on his faceplate.

That horrified thought, thankfully, did not last long. Disregarding the streaks of red, I leaned forward, and tried to get a better look at his actual facial features.

A strong, tall nose-bridge and a pair of firm lips, they were at best average. I have seen much more attractive faceplates on fliers, which was only natural. What I have never seen before, however, was such a pair of optics. They were bright to the extent of being blinding, explosions of light crackling outward, framing the glass of his optics with electrifying sparks. The intensity behind them made my spark quiver. What madness must this mech have seen to enable him to withstand such violent emotions, such fury and ferociousness? Surprisingly, the icy apprehension that seized my spark was not the only sensation I felt. Deep in my core, there was a small burst of heat, and it steadily grew, reaching and filling my circuitry with warmth.

My cooling fans gave a soft whirr, and I desperately hoped none of my trine mates noticed.

Thundercracker was too deep in morbid fascination to hear the faint sound, but Skywarp, being closer to me, had caught it. His helm jerked minutely, and I could have sworn he snickered, but the video was just loud enough to cover the sound of his amusement. I shifted on my peds, and tried my best to ignore the purple idiot.

The ugly mech in the holo-vid lost his weapon, but that hardly caused him any trouble: he transformed into one instead. A tank, I scoffed; how typical of a ground pounder to choose such a heavy, chunky, and overall unattractive alt-mode. However, his heaviness, in this case, was a good thing.

He ran his opponent over.

The other grounder's cry was cut off as fresh energon erupted from his mouth, splattering onto his faceplate and the ground under him. Sounds of metal collapsing and ripping into delicate inner circuitry filled the room, and the unseen crowd in the video exploded into a loud mass of hollers and cheers.

"…_Primus_…" Thundercracker looked like he was going to purge his tank. Even Skywarp gave a small cringe, despite knowing what was going to happen. I winced, wings making a minute jerk. My fingers clenched around my arms, and I wondered what the ugly mech must have felt, crushing his opponent so intimately under his alt-mode.

To my surprise, the bleeding, horribly injured grounder had not deactivated. I fathomed a guess that he remained functioning from his sturdy built and thicker plating alone. Grounders were all like that, annoyingly tenacious in staying alive. The ugly mech, anticipating such tenaciousness, bent over his fallen opponent, and lifted a fist, lips pulled back in a snarl. The camera zoomed in once more to catch both fighters' expressions, and that was when something unexpected happened.

Understandably, the downed mech had his mouth wide open, faceplate a visage of terror as he stared at the fist moments away from pummeling out his spark. The expression on the ugly but victorious mech, however, was what made me do a doubletake.

He lifted his fist, and looked readier than ever to deactivate his opponent without a second thought, without mercy. However, he simply...stopped.

He froze, frame becoming motionless and joints stiffening with tension. He was still as a statue, looking down at his victim.

His lips were parted. His optics were wide, and flashes of light sparked out of them. I felt myself leaning forward, trying to get a closer look at his faceplate. I could not understand the look he wore. I could not fathom what it was that stopped him so suddenly and completely. Gone were the fury and the predatory glint in his optics, replaced by a withdrawn, inner horror. He stared at the mech under him, but did not see him.

What was he seeing?

What had happened to him that could instantly turn wrath into hesitance?

I suddenly felt drawn to this unremarkably built ground pounder.

Perhaps he had seen what I had seen.

Before I could further study his expression, he made a very slight shake of his helm and yanked himself out of his stupor. His lips closed, and pressed together, forming a downward arc. He stood up, much to the disappointment of the crowd, and regarded his victim with a blank look of detachment.

The camera zoomed out as soon as he straightened, and another mech appeared, holding out an ax. He threw the ax at the ugly mech, who caught it in a tight fist. The newcomer was speaking, lips moving swiftly while the ugly mech stared at him with a flicker of attentiveness. He must have spoken a command, because the ugly mech clenched both fists around the handle of the ax, and lifted it over his helm.

The notion of another grounder holding command power over my ugly mech made me very uncomfortable. Such a creature should not be kept on a leash by anyone, yet he was apparently subordinate to the third mech on the fighting platform.

He lifted the ax above his helm, but did not strike. Instead, he turned and looked at the third mech once more. He almost looked lost, as though he did not understand what he was doing there, about the gourge out the spark of another Cybertronian just for the entertainment of an energon-thirsty crowd.

"Finish him!" The third mech pointed and commanded, to which the crowd immediately responded:

"Till all are one!"

The crowd cried out, fueled by violence.

"Till all are one!"

My ugly mech mouthed the words, optics dulled in a blank, distracted daze.

"Till all are one!"

His optics suddenly narrowed, and wrath once again took over as they flashed, igniting into fury.

"Till all are one!"

He swung down the ax.

The roaring of the crowd drowned out his victim's scream.

Fresh energon splashed all over his body, covering the peeling red paint. It slid down along the streaks of crimson on his faceplate, slowly, like glowing coolant tears. His helm dipped down, and his optics darkened, leaving his features shrouded in shadow. His fingers loosened around the handle of the ax, and his arms fell back, limp at his sides. The ax stayed embedded in the spark chamber of his victim, and he merely watched, standing still in full glory of his kill.

I suddenly understood where the stains on his frame came from.

The sheer noise the crowd was making must have been audial-splitting. Even from a video with its volume on low, Thundercracker made a face and nudged Skywarp on the arm telling him to turn it down further. However, I barely heard it, the noise or the announcements the third grounder was making. My attention was solely on the one victorious, whose posture, oddly, did not speak of triumph.

My mech, the champion, lifted his arms. He took a hold of his helmet, and slowly lifted it up, his frame sagging so slightly that I would not have noticed if I were not watching him as closely as I was. He took off his helmet, and, to my amazement, panels began to unfold around his helm.

Miner panels, they were miner panels.

My mech was a miner once.

He tilted his helm back, faceplate up towards the stream of light coming from the ceiling. The gesture, combined with the scene, was so poetic that I almost laughed.

There was nothing worthy of poetry about this broken mech who stood on his peds by anger and resentment alone. He was covered in quickly dulling energon that was starting to seep into the seams between his armour, creating more disgusting stains that even the harshest solvents could not scrub away. Energon from his victim also stuck to his faceplate. He lifted a hand, and messily wiped it off.

I almost laughed, the gesture lacking genuine humour, but I did not. There was a strange sensation of solemnity about the scene that made my spark throb incomprehensibly.

The moment ended when his optics brightened, and a determined expression took over his features. He put his helmet back on, lips remaining curled downward. He spared a lingering glance for the deactivated mech lying by his peds with barely any acknowledgement, and turned away. He walked off the platform, movement heavy and strides large, without a single look back.

The holo-vid sputtered into static before fading away to nothing. I was vaguely aware of Thundercracker complaining about the bloodshed and asking Skywarp why he bothered to bring back such a pointless, depressing thing. I did not hear Skywarp's retort, especially since he started to whine like a sparkling.

Something about the video shook me, but it had very little to do with the spilling of energon. I felt no obligation to mourn a ground pounder's death, since his spark had never been my responsibility. This was why I did not understand my feeling of inclination to know more about the mech with the red streaks of paint, who could very well deactivate by the end of this deca from another fight. Kaon was for the brutal and those who did not matter. Nothing within it should have caused such an effect on me beyond initial disgust and dismissal.

I had to force my limps to move. My arms, which had crossed some time during the video, had never felt so stiff. Walking was almost awkward for my suddenly rigid legs. I retrieved my datapad, and ignored my trine mates, who did not stop their unimportant chattering until I turned toward the doors.

"Star?" Thundercracker's voice reached my audials. I did not need to turn to know he wore a concerned expression.

"I should return to my recharge chambers," I started to say, but had to momentarily stop. My vocalizer was suffering a temporary glitch of some sort. My voice wavered much like the trembling of my wings. "I should recharge now." I began again after a brief pause, "I have much to do the next cycle."

"Alright," Thundercracker sounded unconvinced, but he did not pry. "Recharge well."

I nodded, and keyed open the doors.

As I walked down the hall, I caught Skywarp's voice just before the doors slid closed.

"You know, sometimes I wonder why we even bother to have common trine quarters when he's never here."

* * *

><p>II<p>

To say I was in a sour mood would be a great understatement.

Holding meetings with the Autobot Senates, senile old fools the lot of them, was always a chore. As their holograms faded and disappeared, I sighed through my vents, and stood from my chair. Stretching my arms and my wings, I hoped for a hasty retreat from the stuffy meeting room, but one mech was not keen on the idea.

"Prince Starscream, a trip to Iacon might be inevitable if we want to settle this matter regarding Autobot access to our city once and for all," Nightfire, possibly catching my reluctance to discuss the topic, went straight to the point. "The Autobots have been becoming more insistent as of late. They are no longer satisfied with us caging ourselves in."

"But they will not attack us," I replied, more than ready to leave the conference chamber. "They'd be utter morons if they think they have the ability to take us by force. No ground pounder can possibly find access into our city."

"What if they completely sever our ties to the rest of Cybertron?" Nightfire persisted despite my obvious disinterest toward further discussion on the topic. He had been pestering me about this matter for decas, and he was not about to drop it without a fight. "What if they refuse our entries into their cities, and cut off all communications we now have?"

I narrowed my optics, annoyance flaring close to anger.

"We are already completely severed, Nightfire," I tried to speak with an even tone of voice, but my words came out in a harsh hiss. "Our city is built on the highest point of Cybertron, overlooking expanses of flatland where no grounder can hide, surrounded by a vast, guarded, shifting labyrinth that not even a Seeker can navigate through without an updated guide. The streets have all been demolished, and our towers no longer have any accessible entrances to those without wings. Even if, by a Primus-blessed miracle, the Autobots have gotten through all of the above, we still have enough fire power to shoot them down before they can even begin to figure out how to use their alt-modes on our city's slippery foundations!"

Nightfire opened his mouth, but I cut in before he could argue further.

"And if they do, by a practically impossible chance, manage to damage fliers who can stay out of range of any weaponry they currently possess, I will personally issue the command to blow up our city with those disgusting degenerates still within it and rebuilt our towers from cinder, is that clear?"

Nightfire's optics were wide, lips hanging open. He hastily took a step back, and only then did I realize how close I had begun to lean into him while continuing my angry tirade. I was so close that I could feel our energy fields mingling, and, for a moment, I became flustered.

I took a step back as well, and dipped my helm down. It was as close to an apology as Nightfire was going to get from me.

Nightfire nodded slightly, and cycled air through his system. "…I just worry, Star," He spoke quietly, and gave me a meek little look, which was quite funny if one thought about it since he was a Space Shuttle and much larger than I was.

I almost snickered, but a glance his way made me startle in surprise instead. His expression suddenly became so familiar that it almost made me do a doubletake out of misplaced, heightening hope.

…This was Nightfire, who had a black paintjob, not white. Shaking my helm quickly to dispel any resurfacing memories, I hastily replied.

"What happened all those vorns ago is not going to happen again, Nightfire," To my great shame, I almost stumbled with his designation. I did not, but he could not have missed the small jerk my wings made as I caught myself. Evading meeting his optics by looking to the side, I hurriedly continued speaking to avoid any awkwardness:

"We've taken all possible precautions against another infiltration. Your own family unit made most of the contributions, especially with the design and construction of the labyrinth. You, of all fliers in this city, should know how safe and self-efficient we are."

I gave him a glance.

"We don't need the rest of Cybertron, Nightfire. We are fine by ourselves."

"I…I know," Nightfire finally conceded. He shifted on his peds and looked straight ahead, averting his optics the same way I was averting mine.

I sighed quietly in relief, glad we had reached an agreement. I was just about to dismiss him, thinking that this meeting was in conclusion, when he made my already bad cycle even worse:

"I'm sorry I mentioned Iacon, Star. I should've known you wouldn't want to return there, especially with what happened to Sk—"

Regret, guilt, rage, and pain, they shot through me so quickly that I did not realize I had activated my null rays until smoke rose from the scorch marks on the wall behind Nightfire's helm. Nightfire's faceplate was comically horrified, and I almost laughed, but there was too little humour to be had. I gritted my dentae instead, and hid my quivering spark behind a scowl.

"The only reason you are still standing and functioning is because of your familial relations, Nightfire." I spat out, and narrowed my optics in warning when his expression almost fell to pity.

He smartly changed it to fear instead.

"Henceforth," I bit out, tone bitter and cold, "there will be no more discussions regarding visiting the Autobots in their sad little excuse of a capital city, understood?" My clenched fists trembled. "…And, for the love of Primus, don't ever mention that designation to me again."

Nightfire hastily nodded. "Of course, your Highness. Forgive my transgressions." He bowed his helm as he should, and did not move from his position even as I briskly turned around and left the conference room.

I was becoming too slack with my advisors. I should have never allowed them to think that we could ever be equals.

With a sour mood, I returned to my recharge chambers, hoping for peace. I ended up almost shooting Skywarp in the faceplate instead, the slagger having suddenly jumped out of nowhere when I walked through the door.

"Skywarp, you idiot!" I screamed so loudly that even my own audials rang, "Have you finally fried that nonexistent processor of yours?" I activated my null rays just to give his aft a warning shot to never jump out at me again, but something else caught my attention before I could.

"Wait! Wait! Don't shoot!" He flailed and backpedaled, waving his arms, and something reflective glinted in one of his hands. They distracted me just long enough for the idiot to dart out of immediate danger zone.

With a sneer, I lowered my arms and powered down my compact canons. If I was not as fragged off as I was, I would have been a little worried about finally shooting my stupid trine mate in the faceplate by accident one cycle or another due to a stupid antic of his. I did not usually wear my null rays while within my city. They were strictly military weapons, too heavy duty for only self-protection. However, I always wore them during hologram meetings with the Autobot Senates. The arrogant slaggers were a little less insufferable when intimidated.

"Don't do that again!" I threw Skywarp a glare, and walked toward the lounging couches. Skywarp followed a little apprehensively, not coming close until I sat down. He lingered on the edge of my peripheral vision, and I ignored him, proceeding to take off my null rays.

"Don't bother." He put a hand on top of mine to stop me, and I tilted my helm towards him, wondering what he was on about. At my look, his lips split into a wide, proud grin, and his optics held a characteristic twinkle.

"You're gonna need those if you wanna pay a visit to the beautiful slaghole that is the grand city of Kaon."

That instantly got my full attention. My optics widened, and my lips fell open in a soundless exclaim of surprise. I turned completely to face him, feeling stupidly hopeful that my cycle was not going to be terrible after all.

Skywarp laughed, and I was too astonished to even be irritated. He waved his hand in front of my faceplate, and my optics immediately glued onto the reflective pieces I had noticed earlier. Upon closer inspection, I recognized them as tiny identification chips.

"…Are those really—…?" I pointed at them, still in disbelief that Skywarp had somehow managed to attain such things so quickly.

"Yep!" Skywarp's grin grew even bigger as he stuck out his chassis, becoming more pompous than proud. "These things right here are what's gonna get us into the arena to see your ugly lover-mech, sweet spark."

I was going to punch him, but he threw one of the chips at me, so I had to catch it instead.

"How did you—How did you get these?" I asked, looking over the tiny chip, still in a state of shock.

Skywarp shrugged. "Promise a grounder an interface with a Seeker and he'll do anything."

My helm snapped up, and I stared at my trine mate, horrified.

"Joking! I was joking!" Skywarp spluttered into loud, obnoxious laughter, "Primus, Screamer, you should'a seen your faceplate!" I once again wanted to punch him. "Did you honestly think I'd have such low standards? Not all of us have a fetish for ground pounders like you."

This time, I did punch him.

As Skywarp whined about his beautiful faceplate being disfigured, I turned to studying the identification chip. Every Cybertronian had one. Or rather, every Cybertronian was supposed to have one. Without it, we did not exist to the Autobot Registry of the Populace of Cybertron. Change it, we become an entirely different mech.

"Stupid Screamer, punching me for telling the truth…" Skywarp grumbled, and I sent him a warning glare. He immediately shut up, but his glances told me this was not the last time he planned on commenting on my odd fascination with the mech sporting peeling red paint.

Since the first holo-video Skywarp brought back, I had become intrigued by this ground pounder. I found out later that the video was a recording of a pit-fight in one of the most popular arenas in Kaon. The mech I saw, the gladiator with the captivating pair of optics, was designated Megatron, a newer contestant but already one of the crowd's favourites. No one seemed to know exactly where this Megatron came from, but the panels on his helm suggested that he once worked in the mines. He did not talk much, even to those within his team, and only ever did what was necessary to survive in the smelting scrapheap that was his chosen city of dwelling.

Skywarp and Thundercracker both quickly noticed my interest despite my best efforts at hiding it, and, much to Thundercracker's chagrin, Skywarp continued to bring back holo-vids containing Megatron, which was practically every holo-vid produced. Before long, I began to wonder what being at a live match was like, and that was what ultimately prompted Skywarp to devise a plan to somehow bring me to one of them.

Thundercracker, naturally, had declined to join us on our little secret escapade, shaking his helm and asking me why I would want to see such horrible events in real life. "Skywarp I can accept, being vulgar enough to be curious about such things, but you?" He had looked genuinely concerned, which was why I decided to answer him with the truth.

"They are grounders, TC, grounders that even other grounders don't care about, so I can care even less about them." As long as they were not Megatron, I wanted to add, but Megatron never lose.

"When are we going?" I asked after Skywarp finally grew bored enough with his whining to stop.

"This night cycle, if you're up for it." He shifted giddily on his peds, "It's supposed to be real good too. Megatron's gonna face up against one of the best gladiators in Kaon, and the betting pool's already gone straight through the roof! Some mechs are gonna recharge in tears on this fine night 'cause I'm gonna win all their credits!" Skywarp laughed, looking awfully smug about his bets.

"I hope you betted on Megatron, because otherwise it will be you recharging in tears." I replied with a dry, flat voice. Not that Skywarp would ever truly recharge in tears from credit losses. Unlike the other unfortunate mechs in the betting pool, Skywarp was in a trine with Thundercracker, who was more than wealthy enough to save Skywarp's aft over and over again, _and_, most importantly, had just enough sympathy to actually care if Skywarp had enough credits to feed himself or not.

"Of course I betted on Megatron!" Skywarp made an exaggerated expression as though I had intentionally injured his spark. "Who else would I bet on if not my dear trine leader's lover-mech?"

This time, my punch hit smoke. The purple idiot disappeared and reappeared a few wingspans away, giggling like a sparkling on highgrade.

"Will you shut up about that already?" I bit out, irritated about missing my target. However, despite Skywarp's prowess at being a sore, I was not as annoyed with him as I could have been. I was starting to feel excited anticipation towards the night cycle's events, and my spark began to swell. Rather eagerly, I opened the panel on my arm, and switched my real identification chip with the fake one. I was actually going to sneak out of Vos, my own city that I ruled, to see a pit-fight in the dirtiest grounder city on Cybertron. The sheer incredulous absurdity of the situation made me smile, which was what ultimately made Skywarp decide it was safe for him to come closer without being in the danger of being punched. He plopped down on the lounge couch beside me, and gave me a quick once-over.

"Before we go though, we have to do something about your paintjob." He commented offhandedly, leaning against the backrest.

"There is nothing wrong with my paintjob. It is perfect." I retorted with a sharp flick of my wings.

"Yeah, that's the problem," Skywarp shrugged. "You wanna walk into a city full of the worst mechs imaginable looking like your cute little princely self? You're gonna get pawed at."

"Then a lot of mechs in Kaon will be missing limbs by the end of the night."

Did Skywarp honestly think some slow, bulky grounder could grab me fast enough to lay his hand on me?

To my surprise, Skywarp actually frowned. The serious expression on his faceplate caused me to pause for a moment and seriously consider if I was seeing things.

"You don't understand, Star," Skywarp only ever used the better of my nicknames when he really wanted me to listen closely to him, "You're gonna be in an enclosed space, sitting in a balcony where there's barely enough room to turn around without smacking someone in the faceplate with your wings. Not only will you not even know who groped your aft in the first place, the chance of you taking off without someone grabbing hold of you is close to zero, and even if you do manage to take off, there's barely enough room in the arena for you to actually fly. The best you'd be able to do is hover there while they block the entrances and bring out the big guns to catch you, 'cause any flier is hard enough to come by in Kaon to begin with, let alone a Seeker."

I shifted in my seat, the very idea of sitting in such a cramped place already making my flight sensors tingle rather unpleasantly.

Fliers _needed_ constant space and moving air, which was why all towers of Vos had high ceilings and large-sized rooms, even for the smaller frame-types like Seekers and Stealth Jets. Each tower was also equipped with numerous flight decks for a flier to take off from, and its windows were always big enough for even a Space Shuttle to plunge through in cases of emergency.

Not that such emergencies occurred much, but there was still enough view of the sky for all fliers to feel comfortable within their homes.

"How did _you_ manage to go without being 'pawed at' then?" I chose to ask instead, not wanting to think about getting caught in an enclosed space with ground pounders who wanted to touch me inappropriately.

"I didn't," Skywarp simply said, and I felt my optics widen.

"Hey now, Star, don't look at me like that," He laughed. "Lucky for me, I have a bit of a reputation for teleporting any grounder stupid enough to touch me high into the sky and dropping them to the ground, but even with that, there's still a few who'd take the risk. Most of the time they stop when the matches begin, and if they keep doing it I can hold myself in a brawl well enough to teach the guy to not mess with me again. But the thing is, anything more than two or three standard-sized grounders who're good at swinging fists would leave my hands full." He shrugged, "And I have to say, Star, I'm a lot sturdier than you. I've been in enough trouble to convince my creators to get me more durable plating. Most of those mechs you're gonna be seeing later will dent you just by squeezing too hard."

Though I hated to admit it, Skywarp was right. By military protocol, Seekers grounded in battle were never rescued, simply because against ground pounders, Seekers were only slightly better than armoured younglings. Brute strength has never been any Seeker's forte, and even agility became impaired from pain alone when one's wings were damaged.

Grounded Seekers were dead Seekers.

Skywarp and I were going to be grounded and closed off in a stuffy arena full of ground pounders seeking fresh energon.

"What do I do then?" My voice was a little too soft for my liking, but I would be lying horribly if I were to say I was not at least a little nervous about the situation.

"Simple," Skywarp replied easily, "We get some temporary paint and make you look as inconspicuous as possible."

I made a face.

"Hey c'mon, don't be like that. There's nothing safer than blending in a crowd in a place like Kaon," Skywarp gave me a small nudge. "I mean, it's hard enough for either of us to blend in already, and your colours definitely don't help."

I looked down at my frame, at my perfect painjob and my shiny polish.

"…C'mon, Screamer, you gotta admit you're hardly subtle. You have a red aft for Primus' sakes! That's like _begging_ to be—"

"-Finish that sentence and you won't have an aft of your own to speak of."

"I'll get the paint then." Skywarp laughed nervously, and disappeared in a puff of purple smoke. However, I was irritated to note that he did not do so without looking at me with an annoyingly amused glimmer in his optics.

Wondering why I expected any less out of that idiot, I shook my helm, and proceeded to get ready for the night cycle's events.

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><p><strong>Notes: <strong>Megatron the ugly mech! Haha! :D Not that he's actually ugly. I personally find him extremely pleasing to the eyes in _Origin_.

I forgot to mention during the last chapter that there will be OCs in this story. They are mostly plot devices and unobstructive. Nightfire is, if you haven't figured it out already, Skyfire's brother. To have everyone in Skyfire's family have the word "fire" in their names is kind of a silly little personal joke (I had all kinds of stupid ideas like Windfire, Cometfire, Rainfire…XD). It won't be very apparent in the story, but I thought I'd share.

It's been brought up to my attention that there might have been some confusion in the prologue regarding the identity of the Starscream-molester. He was just a random assassin. That's all. Some of you might have confused him for Megatron due to the cannon, but he is not. I apologize if that was a bit vague.

I will try my best to make everything self-explanatory in the future. However, (**PLEASE READ the following**) there will be omissions and truth-obscuring/bending mostly due to the POV being first-person. Starscream will be heavily biased on a lot of things (not to mention there will be things he isn't aware of), and sometimes you might have to take a step back to catch on to what's actually going on. ;)

Thank you, everyone, very much for taking the time to read this story and for adding it to your favourites/alerts. Special shout-outs to my reviewers: _Devlinn Reiko, supergirl95, Birdiebot, The Happy Shark_(Haha! :D)**, **_tiedwithribbons, Guest, Ashcola17_**, **and_Ebony__Kain_. You have made my days extra special.

Next chapter will be (hopefully) posted on the 20th. It is a lot longer, approximately double the length of this chapter, which is why I'll need more time for editing. Megatron will be making his first appearance in this story, and the plot will be taking off shortly. For now, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and please stay tuned!

…_Psst_, reviews will make my goldfish and I very, very happy. ;))))


	3. III

Disclaimer: Do not own (except for the plot and OCs).

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><p>III<p>

Whatever I expected of Kaon, the actual city was worse.

The sky was shrouded in chemical fume thick enough to look like acid rain clouds, and I highly suspected that they would have condensed into them had the city not emitted as much heat. Yellow-tinted steam rose from the many exposed, lidless pit-holes leading to the poor underground sewage system. A small grounder was bent over one, frame convulsing as he emptied his tank into it.

"Poor little thing," Skywarp commented, though he did not sound like he cared, "Probably had some bad energon."

"Bad energon?" I frowned in confusion, "Energon can be bad?"

"Well, no," Skywarp shrugged lazily, "Unless it came from a dead mech's fuel lines."

The mere thought of what Skywarp was suggesting almost made me pause in my steps. I felt like emptying my tank like the little grounder.

Energon was called energon whether it was in a cube or inside a mech, but its properties were very different. Energon in cubes was carefully distilled and processed into different quality grades for consumption, whereas energon in fuel lines might contain many impurities and could be downright poisonous depending on how long it has been in a mech's system.

Why would any one scavenge from a dead mech's fuel lines?

I watched the little grounder still bent over the pit-hole. He continued to convulse, and made painful noises that sounded like rusty gears screeching against one another. As Skywarp and I walked past, some larger grounders began to gather around him, creating a circle around the shaking mech.

"Starscream, don't look." Skywarp pulled me closer, so close that if he were not my trine mate, I would have retaliated violently. I opened my mouth to protest, curious about what was going to happen, but anything I might have planned to say never left my vocalizer.

Skywarp wore a shockingly grim expression, optics staring straight ahead and lips pressing tightly together in a firm line. The sight startled me so much that even when a wail of pure agony reached my audials, I did not turn back to see what had happened to the little grounder.

We walked down the dirty street. I had to fight to keep an impassive expression as my peds stepped into numerous piles of questionable wet filth that sometimes stuck on my thrusters. I had long since given up trying to step around them. The puddles were everywhere.

The smell of the city alone made my processors throb. The scientist in me tried to analyze the chemicals shifting in the air, but before long, I had to make a conscious effort to stop. The amount of corrosives was making me want to return to Vos and spend the next cycle in the shower chambers. While not deadly, these compounds were harmful enough to cause quite serious surface damage after prolonged exposure, even inner damage too if one did not wash frequently enough.

There were suspicious activities happening in every alleyway we passed. Even as some mechs called out for help, reaching toward us with hands sometimes missing fingers, Skywarp kept walking, pulling me along. I could not understand how Skywarp could possibly be fascinated with this place. Kaon was a forgotten slag hole for ground pounders who have lost their sparks. I briefly wondered what a mech like Megatron, one with such bright optics, could be trying to achieve in a place like this.

I doubted one can achieve anything in Kaon. Perhaps a better way to phrase this would be that Kaon was the city to go to when one did not have any aspirations left.

I lifted my helm and was just about to ask how much longer we were going to walk when something peculiar stopped me. I took one brief look at Skywarp's faceplate, and my vocalizer stalled.

I would have never noticed otherwise, but, until this very instance, I never knew Skywarp could sustain an expression where he was peacefully at ease. As we walked down the filthy street, I discreetly studied him. His optics were dimmed to a pleasant shimmer. His wings were no longer perched high on his back. I had always assumed that his wings were always held high because he was simply irritatingly hyperactive. I felt quite ashamed to realize how wrong my assumption was.

I continued to sneak glances at him as we travelled on ped, and he did not seem to notice, keeping his optics locked ahead. Even if he did catch me staring, he probably chose to ignore me in favour of more important matters, such as keeping me out of sight by pressing me tightly against his slightly larger frame. We passed by many grounder pounders who looked more like walking monuments than mechs, and I was a little uncomfortable and very surprised by how well they seemed to know Skywarp, greeting him with loud bellows and hard claps on the back of his wings. What was even more shocking was the eagerness by which Skywarp returned their calls and gestures. He even wore a mostly friendly smirk on his lips as he exchanged words with his menacing colleagues of questionable origins. I was confused. I did not understand how a Seeker could be so submerged in Kaon when he had a home in Vos, where the air always carried a comforting current and the city itself held an inner glow.

Besides, since when did he become acquaintances with inhabitants of Kaon?

I did not get a chance to ask. Passing by numerous mechs selling various illegal substances, we reached our destination: a guarded, hidden entrance to the gladiator arena. I kept my helm lowered so the hood of the cloak I wore covered my faceplate, just as Skywarp had instructed prior to leaving Vos. However, even as I did my best to appear as insignificant as possible, which was very difficult since it contradicted with my nature as a Seeker, the grounders at the entrance gates noticed me. I must have stuck out a little too much to evade attention altogether. Even though my entire frame was covered by the cloak, the odd shape of my silhouette was enough to tell any ground pounder that I had wings on my back.

"Who's this little thing?" One of them asked, his gnarling dialect so thick that I almost did not understand him.

I did not answer, and scooted closer to Skywarp.

"Awww, don't be like that," The other one laughed, a boisterous sound that irritated my audials. "Come 'ere and lemme take a good look at you." He reached over with his large hand, and made an attempt at grabbing my wings.

I swiftly sidestepped, and his hand grabbed air.

His friend threw his helm back and laughed. He did not like that, being made a fool of in front of his friend, and a scowl appeared on his already ugly faceplate.

"Now listen here, you little whore-bot, I don't have much patience for the likes of you, so come over here before I make you." He took a step forward and made another attempt to grab me. I froze, so shocked and disgusted by the word he used to describe me that I could do very little other than staring at him with wide optics and quickly rising indignation.

_Whore-bot_…?

As his hand came closer, mine curled into fists. My null rays gave a soft hum as they were activated, and I instantly decided that this grounder was not going to touch anything with that hand of his beyond the next klik.

Skywarp must have sensed what I was about to do through our trine bond. He quickly stepped in front of me, and stopped the grounder from coming any closer, simultaneously effectively blocking my aim.

"Whoa, whoa, relax! Starsparkle's just a little shy, that's all! No need to get violent."

If I were not so busy gaping at the back of Skywarp's helm, I would have blasted both him and his grounder friends.

"Starsparkle?" The grounders shared a look.

"Yeah, he's new around here. He came today to test out some new designs I made for him." Skywarp flashed a lopsided grin as he turned and waved toward me.

The grounders glanced at me, and leered.

"New design, huh? Why don't we have a look?" The uglier of the two, the one who tried to swipe at me, jerked his chin in my direction. I was too confused by the conversation to do much else other than frowning and looking at Skywarp questioningly.

"Can't," Skywarp shrugged, "This one's not gonna be out on the market, special order. I just told Sparkle here to put 'em on to see how sturdy they are against a crowd."

To further my confusion, the two grounders' expressions actually morphed into pity.

"Primus-be-damned, must be some real nasty fragger that wants this little thing if you're testing him in an arena crowd."

"Yeah, well, an order's an order." Skywarp shrugged carelessly and gave a curt chortle, to which the grounders replied with laughter.

After exchanging a few more words and scanning our identification chips, the grounders allowed Skywarp and I passage into the arena. As soon as we were alone, I tugged my trine mate closer, and whispered heatedly, a little vexed at being completely thrown out of the loop.

"What in the pits happened back there? New designs? …And '_Starsparkle_'?"

"What? It was the first designation I could think of when I was getting the ident-chips!" Skywarp looked almost offended that I did not appreciate the name he gave me, but the twinkle in his optics told me otherwise.

"But '_Starsparkle_'? Couldn't you have come up with something a little more dignified?" I glared, pursing my lips together.

"Trust me, sweet spark," Skywarp had the nerve to laugh, "'_Starscream_' isn't that much more dignified to these mechs."

I growled, optics narrowing, and he laughed even harder.

"This is not over!" I gave him a shove, and fixed my cloak. I did not only mean his making fun of my designation, but also the questions he did not answer.

"Yeah, whatever," He seemed to brush it off, a hand making a swift wave. However, just before he turned away, his expression shifted a little to that of worry. It was gone before I could dwell on its meaning, and my attention was quickly diverted when Skywarp reached for my hand. "You have to hang on to me real tight, Star. It'll be best if we don't get separated."

Sighing, I nodded, and grumpily grabbed his hand.

As we walked through the dark corridor, the sound of a large crowd grew louder and louder. At the end of the long hallway, there stood another ground pounder. This one did not speak, and merely nodded at Skywarp before keying open the door.

The sheer volume of hundreds of screaming vocalizers almost blew me off my peds.

The arena was massive, not so much in diameter but in height. Vaguely oval in shape, there were four rolls of balconies circling the fighting platform. Each roll was separated into fourteen smaller sections, many of which were already packed with mechs jostling and shouting at each other. The place was bustling with noise and activity, brightly lit by a large ring of lights from the ceiling. The air was humid, its only current being the collective cycling of the crowd's venting systems. In a gesture mostly instinctual for fliers, I tilted my chin up, and gave the ceiling a sweeping look. Hung up above the seats were large screens displaying the list of gladiators participating in the upcoming fights, and beside their designations were their according statuses in the betting pool.

"C'mon, Star," Skywarp gave my hand a small tug when I continued to stand rooted to the ground, staring with wide optics at my surroundings. "Let's find good seats before some other slagger takes them. Wouldn't wanna be at the back when your lover mech is fighting later on."

I was so overwhelmed that I only nodded, and followed Skywarp as he led me into the crowd.

Bodies brushed and bumped against us as Skywarp pulled me toward the front roll seats. Many ground pounders exchanged greetings with Skywarp, and glanced at me with curious optics, though curiosity often was not the only emotion apparent on their faceplates. They were all burly and greasy with leering grins. Some of them had such huge bulk that their limbs looked to be little more than blocks of dead metal. None of them had clean paint, stains infecting their frames in dark patches. High grade was being passed around from hand to hand, contained in large cubes. To my surprise, the grounders guzzled them down one after the other, as though the drink was merely common fuel. The glowing, intoxicating substance dribbled down their chins, and trickled onto their chassis.

I had never felt more thankful for my dirty cloak. When Skywarp had first presented it to me, I almost had a fit at the thought of something so revolting touching my frame. However, as unseen hands made groping passes at me, I was relieved I ultimately decided to wear it. The thin fabric at least prevented those perverse grounders from coming into real contact with my plating.

My vents made a spluttering sigh of relief when Skywarp finally found seats he deemed to have an adequate view. I quickly sat down, optics lowering to take an inspection of my peds to check on my paint and thrusters. Aside from minor cosmetic damages that made my tank churn, I did not see anything that could not be remedied by lots of scrubbing with strong solvents and careful polishing. I was very glad my thrusters, despite being covered in filth, were still at optimal functionality.

Skywarp did not sit down. In fact, barely any of the spectators took their seats. They all stood, either conversing, drinking high grade, participating in inappropriate public conduct, or looking expectantly at the barred gates the gladiators were to arrive into the arena from. I turned my attention to the gates as well, trying to peer into the shadowy passageway behind bars that seemed to lead into the pits themselves. Why would anyone stare into a dark hole? Or rather, what were they expecting to see within it? There was still quite a wait before the matches were scheduled to begin, and, according to Skywarp, schedules were rarely kept in the arenas.

So what were they anticipating?

After more curious staring, I became bored, and turned my attention back to the crowd. Some grounders were already over-energized, leaning against other mechs. With a start, I began to notice quite a number of Autobot insignias hidden beneath stain marks. After further scrutiny, I was not surprised to find that the stain marks were, in fact, freshly applied to obscure view of the red badge of honour. I scoffed, vents making a sharp huff. Most of these honourable Autobots were already engaging in public interface with mechs they would most likely never meet again.

The Senate system was more of a joke than my previous assumption, which was quite tragic for the rest of Cybertron and Primus's less exceptional children. Not that such tragedy mattered to me. My fliers were safe and comfortable in my city. If these ground pounders were satisfied with crawling and rusting in their own foul putrescence, then so be it.

More optics were staring into the dark hole that the gladiators were supposed to enter from. Curiosity made me turn my helm once more, and, this time, I caught what they were expecting to see.

In the shadows behind the barred gates, two frames were in a tight embrace. The larger of the two, obviously a gladiator by the amount of armour he wore, caged the smaller mech against the wall. Large hands roamed over thighs, hips, chassis, and—

…Wings…?

I felt my frame stiffen. My intakes hitched to a stop.

Wings.

They were Seeker wings.

My hands clench into tight fists.

How was this possible? There could not have been any other Seeker aside from Skywarp and I at this pit-hole of an arena. Getting out of Vos was as difficult as getting in. All fliers, no matter of what social status, needed permission from the security counsel as well as an escorting guard to leave the city. Not only was there punishment for leaving without a permit, the danger of becoming lost in the labyrinth without a guide was great enough to discourage anyone from trying to sneak out. The only mech exempt from such danger was Skywarp, who could simply pop from one side of the labyrinth to the other. Skywarp was the only teleporter in Vos. Instant travel was the only way he managed to escape the consequences of his legal transgressions. Even with his unique ability, there were times when he got into trouble of enough magnitude to land him in confinement that not even I could release him from without issuing a direct order.

I rebooted my optics, but I continued to receive the same visual feedback.

The smaller mech being pressed against the wall by the large gladiator definitely had Seeker wings.

"…S-Skywarp…?" A tremour shook through my body, and made my vocalizer catch.

The unknown Seeker touched his interface partner with equal fervor. I could not see much of his frame, but his eagerness was obvious from the way he shifted his hips and grinded back against the gladiator.

How was this possible? Why was this Seeker here, willingly allowing a grounder to ravish him, to humiliate him?

I felt my wings begin to quiver, and my spark squeezed into a tight knot, burning in horror and anger. I was certain Skywarp had noticed by now how close I was to activating my null rays to blast that repulsive slagger off from my Seeker kin. I did not know how my citizen had wound up here, deep in the slums of Kaon, but one thing was clear: he could not have been enjoying this. He must have been forced to participate, to put on this nauseating show for the crowd. After all, how could any respectable flier enjoy interfacing with a lowly ground pounder?

Despite the obvious lack of consent from my Seeker, the crowd was definitely enjoying the show. As more mechs took notice of what was happening, jeers and rude calls began to fly back and forth in the arena. Loud voices erupted from behind me, shouting demands suggesting such horrible actions that even the most peaceful of fliers would shake in uncontrollable fury. Their sick fetish toward wings, fueled their lust for fresh energon, encouraged cries speaking of pure, utterly depraved sadism.

They wanted the gladiator to crumble my Seeker's beautiful, proud wings.

They wanted to savour the expression on my flier's faceplate as his wings were torn from his body.

They wanted the gladiator to pin my citizen by his precious appendages to the wall with bolts, to be hung up, to be put on exhibit for all hungry optics in the arena.

They wanted to see how his wings would flutter if he were brutally penetrated without any preparation.

I wanted to destroy them, to watch their helms combust into flame as I force my thrusters into their gaping mouths. I wanted to tear them apart, to hear their intakes choke on their own energon as I shoot them down with my null rays right in their spark chambers. They did not deserve to be called Cybertronians. They did not deserve the sparks they were given by their creators.

However, my anger quickly fell to despair.

What could I do against hundreds of burly ground mechs while stuck in their element? They would capture me and rip my wings off before I could exact my revenge, and once I become grounded, having my spark extinguished would become the least of my worries as I would land right in their perverse fantasies. My null rays were great weapons. I designed them myself. They were deadly, precise, and able to hit target even when I fly at top speed. However, they would not make an escape route if I fired them at the ceiling.

…Primus, why did I think coming to such a place was a good idea? Why did I tell Skywarp to find a way to get me here?

Why did Skywarp show me the holo-vid in the first place?

I did not realize I had placed my faceplate in my hands and curled into a ball until I lifted my helm to check on my Seeker. He had his arms wrapped around the gladiator's shoulders, and his legs had curled around the gladiator's hips.

His peds…had no thrusters.

I stared, and thought my optics had glitched.

His soles were flat, lacking the arch and heels exemplifying a Seeker's peds.

My processors froze, and could not come up with an explanation as to how any flier, let alone a Seeker, could have no thrusters on his heels.

When I finally worked out the reason behind the incredulous oddity, my spark almost collapsed in on itself from dismay.

This mech was not a Seeker.

In fact, he was not a flier at all.

He was a ground pounder, a petit one, but a ground pounder nonetheless. My optics began to notice other details that confirmed my conclusion, such as how his frame had too many straight angles for him to carry an aerial alt-mode, and how his wings, despite being scratched against the rough wall behind him, did not twitch in pain.

I started to shake for an entirely different reason.

I became deeply terrified of the depravity these ground pounders could sink to, depravity that I had willingly and foolishly put myself right in the middle of.

"…Skywarp?" I reached for my trine mate both with my hand and in our trine bond. When no immediate reaction met my plea, I tilted my helm, and searched desperately for my purple Seeker and the reassurance he would give me. He remained standing beside me, but he made no immediate offer of comfort. He was looking down at me with an unreadable expression instead, brow ridges dipped into a dark frown.

"I'm sorry, Star," He finally spoke, and somewhat tentatively placed a hand on my right wing, rubbing in small circles. At first, I was too distracted by the gesture to figure out what he was apologizing for, and then it hit me:

Only a Seeker would know how to replicate Seeker wings with such authenticity that another Seeker would be completely fooled.

"…Skywarp?" I almost jerked away from his touch, abruptly looking up at him with horrified shock, "How—…_Why?_"

His optics flickered away, and he weakly shrugged.

"…I thought it was funny…" He mumbled.

This time, I did jerk my wing from his fingers. He remained still for a few kliks, hand hanging in the air, before his arm fell back to his side, limp.

I kept my optics offline until the simultaneous cries of overload from the gladiator and his whore faded away behind the roaring of the crowd.

Skywarp shifted on his peds beside me, but I paid him no attention.

"…Star?"

I ignored him.

Skywarp shifted some more, and hesitantly rested his hand on my wing again. My wing gave an angry twitch, but I did not jerk away. After all, I still needed him to get me out of here after this entire ordeal was over.

"Look, Star," He gave the leading edge of my wing a gentle squeeze, "I—I didn't know Trackcharge was gonna be here. He likes to put on a little show before the pit fights start, but he isn't on the fighter list for the night, so I thought—…" He paused, and added in a softer grumble: "…You really weren't supposed to see that…"

If we were anywhere else but this arena I would have shot him. I was furious enough to not care about the possibility of having to replace a trine mate. Skywarp, the slagging idiot Skywarp, sold replicas of Seeker wings to grounder whores, undoubtedly so they could sell themselves for an interface at a higher price. I felt so betrayed by what he had done that the resulting burst of rage from my spark was strong enough to alert Thundercracker, who was practically on the other side of Cybertron.

:_What's happening?_: Our trine's comm.-link activated instantly.

I did not reply. Neither did Skywarp.

:…_Starscream? Skywarp?_: Thundercracker started to sound a little alarmed. :_What's happening? Why aren't you replying? Is any of you hurt?_:

I remained silent, and Skywarp shuffled on his thrusters beside me, unsure of what to do.

:_For Primus's sakes, answer me!_: Thundercracker's voice gained in volume. :_Something bad happened, didn't it? I _told_ you it was a bad idea to go to Kaon!_:

Thundercracker began a hurried rant. I could feel how worried he was from his side of the trine bond, so I was sure he could feel the violent turbulence in my spark as I teetered between murder and logic. Our trine link was rarely opened beyond the minimum of just knowing that each of us was alive, so when Thundercracker attempted to force us into a fully activated bond, I startled in surprise to find Skywarp's presence absent.

To close one's side of the link when a trine mate wanted a full bond was almost considered as taboo amongst Seekers. In a great understatement, doing so was extremely rude and hurtful. It was akin to a slap in the faceplate saying one no longer wanted to be a part of the trine, and some trines took such a thing so seriously that there were cases in Vosian history where Seekers were deactivated from fights that broke out after the initial violation of trust. This fact certainly did not help me in the slightest in quelling my rising urge to throttle the stupid slagger beside me until his helm fell off.

Thundercracker was shocked silent for several kliks. When he recovered, his voice was soft and trembling.

:_Come back to Vos_.: He was still trying to be the voice of reason, but he could fool neither me nor Skywarp that he was straining under the pressure and stress of not knowing what was going on. :_Come back to Vos, and we can talk about whatever that's happened, alright?_:

When both of us retained our silence, what was left of his already fracturing calm fell apart.

:_Primus-damnit, you slaggers! Get your fragging afts back in Vos or I swear by the pits I'm going down there with the whole Vosian army to drag the two of you back!_:

:_Settle down, Thundercracker_.: I quickly replied. For a moment, I almost panicked. Thundercracker spoke with such conviction that, for a brief moment, I actually believed he was truly going to bring the whole military out just to look for us. However, in order to do so, my processors helpfully informed me, he would need my permission first.

:_We are both fine._: I continued, lying seamlessly to soothe my agitated trine mate,:_I just got caught up with what was happening at the arena. That's all._: I did not speak for the purple idiot standing next to me. I did not know what his problem was, keeping his trine link closed, nor did I particularly care at the moment. :_We will return as planned. Do not alert anyone_.:

:_But_—:

:_That was not a request, Thundercracker_.:

Silence filled our comm.-link, and I almost felt bad.

:…_Understood, Prince Starscream_.: Thundercracker did not wait for me to reply. He cut his comm.-line, and I was left alone, wondering if I should apologize.

That thought did not last long before I remembered that I did not need to apologize to anyone. I was not at fault. Skywarp was the one who committed the betrayal. He sold all of us, all fliers of Vos, to cater to the sickening, carnal pleasures of the lowest of ground pounders. Such a crime was unforgivable.

He sold our wings.

I glanced at him, the purple slagger. He was fiddling with his fingers, staring blankly ahead. Deciphering his expression was difficult, a rarety for one lacking the intelligence to carry more than two emotions at the same time, and I was simply too angry to make the effort. However, judging by the way his wings jerked on his back, he was very anxious, if not a little scared.

He had better be scared, I thought vehemently. Too disgusted to waste any more processing power on the imbecilic glitch, I snapped my helm back to facing the arena, lips curled into a scowl.

Fortunately, the first round of matches was on its way to begin. For the time being, it provided just enough distraction for me to momentarily forget about Skywarp's horrendous offense toward my city and my kind. The crowd cheered as punches made dents in plating. They waved their fists as energon was spilt. They cried out in bloodlust ecstasy as sparks were torn out straight from spark chambers, the glowing orb of life keeping its brightness for several kliks before spluttering out completely.

I was only faintly amused. This was not entertainment. This was clumsy ground pounders who looked like scrap-heaps to begin with beating the slag out of each other. The only good thing happening was that there was one less grounder functioning as each round went by. There was no theatrics, no energon-boiling moments of tension. None of it made my frame grow hot. None of it made my spark swell in excitement and desire for more.

Then came the moment everyone was waiting for.

One of the longest lasting gladiators, a bulky, tall mech by the designation of Wrecksmasher, walked into the arena as worker bots wiped the platform clean of lingering body parts. The crowd howled as if a craze had taken over their collective processors, the noise they made soaring into a chorus of frenzied screaming. Fists were waved and pounded on the railing. High grade was spilt as mechs jumped up from their seats. Cooling fans whirred loudly as systems became overheated from anticipation of the pending fight. Mine, however, kicked on for a somewhat different reason.

There he was, walking into the arena after Wrecksmasher, my mech, my obsession, the only one who could convince me to step into this smelting pit of a city.

_Megatron_.

I did not know when I had leaned forward in my seat and grabbed onto the railing in front of me, but this was the position in which I found myself as I watched my gladiator emerge from the opened gates. A wave of explosive heat spiked in my spark, and sent out a ripple of fiery sensations across my neural network. The stuttering of my fuel pump hastened, and my internal temperature climbed higher. Within a moment, I was entranced, optics glued to the ground pounder that was in many ways incredible.

He was even bigger than I expected. Just by the simple motions of walking onto the fighting platform, he exuded strength, a still potency of power barely contained in his massive frame. Each step he took was firm and deliberate. He did not make any unnecessary movements, and remained devoid of sound, silently observing the form of his opponent. He gave the name "ground pounder" a whole new meaning to a flier such as myself. If the ground shook as he fought with all his might, I would not have been surprised in the slightest.

He quietly looked over Wrecksmasher, who was prancing around on the platform entertaining the crowd. He carefully studied his competitor of the night cycle, mapping out each and every weak spot on the famous gladiator's form. I bit my lips, wiggling eagerly in my seat, and wondered what he would see if he were to study me in a similar fashion.

…Would he silently mock how easily he could mangle me beyond recognition, or would he wonder how soft my metal would feel under his hard, thick hands?

My coolant system immediately clicked on, leaving icy sensations across my heated sensor net, desperately trying to bring down my core temperature. I was overheating. The vents on my shoulders sent out blasts of hot air, which made the hood of my cloak flutter. My intakes worked just as urgently, hoping to cool me down. The cloak stalled the effort of my systems. It was beginning to suffocate me. I needed very little further motivation to pull down the hood hiding my features, and I did not have to wait long.

Megatron finished examining his opponent's frame, and began to sweep the crowd with his glowing, red optics. His expression remained impassive as he glanced over his spectators, and he looked rather unimpressed, gaze gliding over the rolls of balconies with cool disinterest. I felt my pride as a Seeker give a small lurch, and a smirk tilted my lips.

He wanted something worthy to look at?

I would give him something worthy to look at.

His optics turned toward my direction, and I lifted my hands.

With one quick flick of my wrists, I threw back my hood, exposing my helm and my shoulder vents.

His optics met mine, and he paused.

My fingers clenched tightly around the cloak. My whole frame involuntarily shivered.

His optics lingered on mine for a long moment, taking in what he could of my appearance. His lips parted only so very slightly that he probably did not expect anyone to notice, but I saw it, because I was watching him with as much intensity as he was watching me. The glow behind his optics instantly flared brighter as he took in the sight of my shoulder vents and the tell-tale signs of wings on my back, and I felt my smirk grow more daring.

_Do you recognize what I am, ground pounder? _

_Do you find me irresistible like the rest of your pathetic, perverse kind?_

He frowned, the minute pinching of his brow ridges barely noticeable, and his gaze grew in pinpointed intensity.

My wings trembled on my back, and my spark leapt in my spark chamber, another wave of spiking heat combusting from within it.

He knew.

He knew that I was completely different from those wretched whore-bots.

None of the other grounders around me seemed to notice the difference, but they had always been ignorant, and would all eventually suffer insignificant ends. I was vaguely aware of Skywarp squirming nervously beside me due the plentiful of lustful stares I was receiving. I knew all the mechs around me wanted to touch. They probably had never seen such smoothness and shine on a mech before, and I was still perfection even though my true paintjob was hiding behind a temporary disguise. However, none of them touched, and I almost preened in exhilaration when I realized that they were afraid to do so because my mech had already claimed me.

I jerked my chin up in challenge, and my mech narrowed his optics. I flew only for myself and my city. I belonged to no ground pounder, no matter how charismatic or strong.

What made this Megatron think he had the right to place ownership on a Seeker much out of his grasp?

His optics, now shining their brightest, looked over the rest of my form still hidden behind the cloak. I shifted purposely in my seat, and his gaze instantly returned to mine. He did not yet have the right to wonder what I kept hidden beneath the flimsy fabric, though the thought of him secretly ravishing me in his mind made the sensors in my wings tingle. How many of those wretched whore-bots have you interfaced with, mighty Megatron? Did you truly feel satisfied pretending that those fake wings felt any caresses you have placed on them? Did you honestly believe that being with those rusted scrap-heaps could even begin to compare to what it was like to be intimate with a flawless work of art that was the Seeker frame type?

I would allow him to worship me, this intriguing mech, but he would never have me.

He continued to look, completely enthralled in my presence. However, after a while, he abruptly turned away, expression reverting back to indifference as though nothing had happened. I felt my spark jolt as disbelief and indignation quickly replaced my pleased smirk with an annoyed scowl. The insolent pit-fighter, I had not allowed him to turn away. He should have felt infinitely humbled and given me a bow for my generosity of bestowing upon him a glimpse of my beautiful faceplate.

I contemplated putting the hood over my helm once more, just to stop Skywarp's worried fidgeting if anything, but decided against it. Mighty Megatron thought he had what it took to claim my little Seeker self, and I was not about to make him think I consented in any way to his delusion. I would flaunt my beauty to all mechs in the arena, and he could do nothing about it.

Very pleased with my decision, I sat back for further comfort, and felt my little smirk return to my lips.

A third mech, one that I eventually found out to be the one who ran this particular arena, walked on stage, and began addressing the crowd. He wasted no time making announcements, since all mechs in the audience were starting to get a little restless from desire for violence of the most brutal kind. He introduced both gladiators of the match out of habit more than necessity, and quickly made his way down the platform, hiding in the safety of the sidelines.

For almost an entire breem, Megatron and Wrecksmasher only watched each other, both hulking predators completely still. Their optics were eerily bright, and the intensity behind their glares made many in the crowd squirm on their peds. Wrecksmasher pulled back his lips, baring his dentae, and a growl began to build from his vocalizer. My mech narrowed his optics, and light crackled outward, framing the crimson-tinted glass and casting a faint glow to his scars. He slowly moved into position, a motion that was mirrored by his opponent. Neither of them made further movement for several kliks, and the simmering anticipation grew. The tension in the hot, humid air was so strong that all spectators became rigid statues, only the sound of whirring cooling fans leaving them.

Megatron made the first move. His hands curled into tight fists, and he made a swift lunge forward. Wrecksmasher darted back instantly. However, his reaction turned out to be completely unnecessary. My mech did not advance any more than one single step, and his gaze followed his opponent's flitting little hops with progressively apparent amusement. A smirk split his faceplate, twisting the twin streaks of peeling red paint on his cheek plates, and immediately I knew: Megatron had already won the match. Deep, rumbling chuckles left his vocalizer, and the crowd joined him in hilarity at the expense of Wrecksmasher's pride.

Wrecksmasher, growl growing louder and frame shaking with embarrassment-fueled fury, made the next move. He sprung forward with a loud battle-cry, and swung back a hard fist, aiming for Megatron's helm. The punch went hurtling toward its target, but, to my surprise, Megatron did not simply dodge. One of his large hands shot upward in a blur of a movement, and caught the fist kliks before it collided with his faceplate.

Wrecksmasher, as with everyone else in the arena, stalled a little, and was thrown off by the unexpected action. Usually, fighters tested each other out first to draw out the action in order to tease the audience. Simple theatrics were a popular tactic that every pit-fighter was instructed to engage in, and Megatron had more than enough time to dwell on such frivolity. However, he did not. No one expected the real fight to take place just yet, but Megatron had other ideas. Optics flashing brighter, he swung back his other fist, and buried it into Wrecksmasher's gut with a forceful punch.

I winced, and suspected that this match could be over quickly. Such a direct hit from a mech like Megatron must have had at least enough impact to wind one's systems. However, Wrecksmasher only grunted once before his growl returned with a vengeance. I was reminded that Wrecksmasher did not last so long in the pits from darting around on his peds. Faceplate in an angry grimace, he threw back his helm, and gave my mech a solid head-butt.

The crowd made a collective sound of surprise. I was one of them, intakes hitching involuntarily. Head-butting someone with a miner helmet was hardly wise. Miner helmets were extremely thick, and they were made from the hardest of metals. They were designed to sustain the full weight of cave-ins deep in Cybertron's innards, created for the sole purpose of withstanding massive impact. However, to everyone's greater shock, Megatron was actually the one to let out a pained grunt, stumbling back minutely and looking temporarily disoriented. I felt my optics widen, and my lips fell apart in a silent exclamation of dreadful astonishment.

What kind of a helm did Wrecksmasher have?

Megatron's brief moment of confusion was all Wrecksmasher needed to dish out his next attack: another hard punch from his other fist. It hit right against the side of Megatron's helm, and it made a loud, solid crunch. My mech stumbled to the side, letting go of the hand he had caught. Behind the shadows shrouding the features of his downturned faceplate, I saw energon trickling down his chin.

I felt my fuel lines run cold as the crowd cried out in excitement at the first sight of energon. What in the pits was Wrecksmasher made of? He had made two direct hits against a _miner helmet_, and, even so, managed to inflict injury. However, Megatron was no soft little Autobot either. He snapped his helm around, and a vicious scowl was on his energon-splattered faceplate. One of his optics had already been damaged. Cracks ran along the surface of the enforced glass. Regardless, he quickly regained his footing, and stood glaring at Wrecksmasher in a firm, defensive stance.

"Not bad for an amateur," Wrecksmasher, with a wide grin on his faceplate, spat out the comment and laughed. The crowd began to shout out encouragements, making wild swings with their own fists. He jerked his chin in small acknowledgement at their enthusiasm, and got ready for another attack.

"But now, the real fun begins."

Megatron did not answer, but his optics narrowed.

Wrecksmasher wasted no time. He charged forward, a loud roar filling the arena along with the screams of the crowd. Deafening sounds of dense metal against metal pounded against my audials as punches and kicks were exchanged, leaving deep dents and large cracks in both mechs' armour. Glowing energon splashed onto the platform from ruptured fuel lines, and left many parts of its surface wet and slippery. Before long, both Megatron and Wrecksmasher were covered in injuries, paint scraped and scratched, a large portion of their frames covered in glowing purple.

Megatron kneed Wrecksmasher in the chassis, and Wrecksmasher dealt Megatron another punch to the helm. They separated, both taking a brief reprieve from dishing out as much damage as they received. Even over the ruckus the crowd was making, I could hear the sound of their overworking fans. Steam rose from their frames, condensation of vapour evaporating from their heated plating. The stuffy arena was so poorly ventilated that I barely felt any air currents against my flight sensors, which should have made me extremely on edge, but such a discomfort became only a minor bother as the match held my spark in a tight grasp.

Weapons were tossed in. Megatron curled his fingers tightly around the handle of the energon blade he was given, and Wrecksmasher did a few experimental swings with his ax, nodding in satisfaction. I leaned forward in my seat. That ax looked like the one Megatron had used to deactivate his opponent in the first holo-video I had seen of him. My suspicion was confirmed when I noticed the way my mech stared at the ax, and pressed his lips firmly together in a downward line.

Megatron was not amused, and that could only mean one thing.

The match was about to get _very_ interesting.

I grinned in anticipation, leaning forward so much that my aft barely touched my seat. My fingers tightened around the railing, and my whole being became entirely entranced by the fight on the platform.

This time, Megatron initiated the next round of attack. He burst forward with a speed that was quite impressive for his size, and made to plunge his blade deep into Wrecksmasher's chassis. Wrecksmasher immediately retaliated by doing the appropriate defensive maneuver, preparing to block. However, just as the ex-miner neared his opponent, he suddenly turned unexpectedly. With a rapid change of weight center, he sprung around and landed crouched on his peds. He swung his blade out, and it bit mercilessly into Wrecksmasher's left knee.

Wrecksmasher gave a howl of pain and anger as the blade lodged into his leg. Sparks erupted from severed motor cables, and energon spurted abundantly out of the large gash. The crowd immediately erupted into a screaming chorus, an entity crazed and fanatic for violence. Megatron narrowed his optics further, and pushed harder on the blade. It cut deeper into his opponent's knee, but seemed to stop, and my mech grimaced, straining to completely sever the limb from its host. Wrecksmasher let out an even loud howl as the main fuel line in his leg was ruptured. More energon, warm and vibrant in colour, surged out from the injury, and sprayed all over Megatron's helm and shoulders.

"You fraggin' piece of slag!" The more seasoned gladiator bit out behind gritted dentae, and lifted his ax over his helm, faceplate scrunched in an ugly expression of rage dotted with agony. He brought it down, the ax a glinting blur, and aimed for my mech's unprotected helm.

Megatron immediately evaded by forcefully dislodging the blade and flinging it upward in a block. His weapon, drenched in energon, splattered glowing, vital fuel all across the platform. He was only a split klik too late. The ax bit into his shoulder before it could be stopped by his blade, and he winced around his scowl. However, he was still a lot better off than Wrecksmasher, who was losing energon at an alarming rate.

Before Wrecksmasher could even think about making another attack, Megatron pushed up, and threw his opponent back.

Despite his big advancement toward victory, Megatron looked extremely annoyed. He stood back, glaring at Wrecksmasher, who remained on the ground. At first, I did not understand what my mech could possibly be so frustrated about. I was left perplexed until I noticed the way he was staring at Wrecksmasher's badly injured knee.

He was angry at himself for not cutting the limb off.

Anyone would have congratulated himself on inflicting any injury on the ridiculously hard-plated gladiator, but not my mech. He was infuriated that he did not accomplish his original objective, and if there was anything I learned from watching him on the holo-vids, it was that he never did anything halfway.

Always all, or nothing.

I smirked, amusement tickling my spark.

Not even mighty Megatron got everything he wanted.

Wrecksmasher was swearing up a storm, spitting and growling out threats, empty from a downed mech. Megatron began to stalk around him, expression reverting back to cold, calculating evaluation. The tables have turned. Whereas before there were two predators, now, there was only one, circling his prey. The crowd noticed this, and instantly became divided. Some shouted at Wrecksmasher to get up and fight. Some urged Megatron to stop stalling and attack. Wrecksmasher leaned all of his weight on his still functioning ped, and gripped his ax tighter, optics following my mech's every move. He was not about to be deactivated without making more marks on my mech's frame, and, for a klik or two, I almost admired him.

Not bad for a ground pounder looking at deactivation in the faceplate.

"Any last requests before I extinguish your spark?" Megatron asked, voice rather flat with disinterest. After all, the question was purely for show. Everyone at the arena knew that no requests would ever be fulfilled.

"Frag you to the pits!" Wrecksmasher bellowed out, making a swipe with his ax in an attempt to clip my mech's chassis.

Megatron did not even flinch as the ax missed him by a mere wingtip.

"I decline." He said, and, without another word or further theatrics, swung back his blade and plunged it straight through Wrecksmasher's chassis.

The sound of an energon blade piercing through hard, dense metal filled the arena with a loud, painful screech, accompanied by an agonized scream.

Then, silence.

No one in the crowd made any movements, gaping with parted lips. All were shocked by how hastily the match ended, including me. Wrecksmasher's deactivation was awfully disappointing and highly anti-climatic. There was no splashing of energon or limps being ripped off by bare hands. There was no scattering of broken circuits and cables as the losing party desperately tried to avoid a horrible death. There was not even a messy decapitation that left the main energon lines in the neck squirting out glowing fuel for breems onto the fighting platform. Megatron simply left his blade embedded in Wrecksmasher's spark chamber, watching the dying mech's optics eventually fade to darkness with detached blandness.

The audience remained stunned for several kliks more before exploding into a furious mess of rabid, screaming mechs deprived of their night-cycle's satisfaction. Their hunger for brutality remained unfulfilled, and they were moments from tearing the arena apart to get their fulfillment. A massive wave of insults and threats were thrown at the victor of the most recent match. The ground pounders around me began to get so agitated that they started pushing forward, as though in preparation to jump over the railings to get a swipe at the remaining gladiator. I quickly stood up when bodies started jostling and knocking into each other around me. Hard plating bumped into my wings, jolting my flight sensors with sharp jabs of pain. Shoulders and elbows hit my frame, accidental touches that left my processors reeling with panic. Large forms loomed around me, coming closer and closer, and caged me in.

I had to get out. The enormous ground pounders swarming closer to the railing was trapping me. The already small amount of space around me was diminishing at a frighteningly fast rate, and already I was feeling the first symptoms of Seeker claustrophobia poisoning my spark with desperate horror.

My optics scanned my surroundings, trying to find escape from the walls made of heavily-built mechs in all direction. I was looking for the fastest way out of the arena without having to take flight. The last thing I needed was unnecessary attention from grounders in my immediate vicinity that were especially eager for violence. However, the authority my logic centers had over my processors was already beginning to slip, which made getting out before I gave in to my instinctual reactions of vital priority. I was becoming overwhelmed by the amount of hostile stimuli wrapping me tightly in their midst, but I forced the last small amount of control I still had over my limbs to start reaching for Skywarp, a comm. command to teleport us out flying over our trine bond. I felt his fingers brush against mine, and pulled back slightly only in an attempt to grasp more tightly around them.

There was a particularly loud holler of alarm from somewhere behind me, and suddenly, the crowd crashed into my back, pinning me against the railing. I could not reach Skywarp in time. He had already activated his warping system. I barely heard Skywarp's cry of dismay and the distinct sound of his teleportation over the still screaming crowd, too shocked by the abrupt reality that I was left alone in the arena to even splutter in horror. The grounders were starting to crush my slighter body. My cockpit glass screeched against the rough metal I was pressed against. Left with no other choice, I looked up, ready to take the risk of exposing myself as a flier as I engaged my thrusters for activation.

My optics turned upward, and dreadful realization froze my spark in an instance. My last escape was obstructed. I could barely see the ceiling with the heavy forms of grounders bending over me, blocking the last bit of light. I did not notice I had instinctually crouched down to prevent my cockpit glass from being splintered. The fact that I had narrowly avoided being squished to death was not enough to stop my panicking spark from seizing in terror.

I was boxed in. Hot air from overworking cooling fans blasted against my flight sensors, its fast and irregular currents throwing off my equilibrium and my sense of perception. My processors were convinced that I was stuck in the most disastrous of storms, unable to tell up from down or left from right. My fuel pump quickened into a thudding gallop, and my spark trembled horribly, much like my rattling wings. I did not realize I was screaming until my vocalizer began to pinch in sharp stabs of pain.

I offlined my optics, and curled into a tight ball. Numerous peds kicked into my side, and I scooted away, spark flaring wildly in my spark chamber. Warnings began to pop up in my processors, but I could not comprehend any of them even though I knew they were reporting danger to my overall health. I was thoroughly stricken by hysteria, fear compounding exponentially due to the belief that I was somehow locked in a small box of cruel storms, unable to get out with no one able to save me.

I could vaguely feel both Skywarp and Thundercracker straining their ends of our trine bond, trying to simultaneously calm me down and find out what was happening. However, I was too frantic and my processors too scrambled to think about demanding Skywarp to teleport back and find me to get me out. A hard kick hit my side, the impact creating a shallow dent in my plating, and I fell sideways with a pained yelp, bumping against the cold metal of the railing. Suddenly, the haze of terror cleared a little, and my intakes gasped, my frame stiffening still.

My optics remained offline, and my lips were still parted, but no screams left my vocalizer. I shakily pressed my hands flat against the metal wall, and felt around. My logic center battled valiantly against my emotions, telling them it was impossible for me to be stuck in a storm if there was a wall beside me. This hardly comforted my claustrophobia, but it did ease my fear and encourage me enough to online my optics to try to grasp my bearings.

I was extremely glad I decided to online my optics then, because, right in front of me, there was a Primus-blessed tunnel made up of ground pounders bending over the railing. The tunnel was hardly impressive in size, and definitely would not accommodate my wing span. However, if I hiked up my wings, I should be able to fit through just enough to be mobile.

I could not see if this tunnel led to escape, but I was not about to wait for it to disappear.

Getting down on my hands and knees, I began to crawl, slowly making my way through the tunnel. My attention was only focused on getting out of this mess without any ground pounders noticing that I was beneath them. Many times peds kicked me, but I barely flinched before quickly crawling away. My wing tips sometimes bumped into arms or elbows, but none of the grounders seemed to feel the small impact, though it made me wince and grit my dentae.

After what felt like an eternity, I began to see the end of the tunnel. It led to another railing wall, but there was just enough light shinning down for me to instantly deduct that there was enough space to see the ceiling, which meant there was perhaps room for me to squeeze through. I began to crawl faster, barely aware of the accumulated filth staining my hands and my knees. My escape was very close now, and I could already feel a cooler draft of air floating past my flight sensors.

I felt hope begin to wash over my spark, and made my last few awkward shuffling movements before the sight of the ceiling greeted my upturned helm.

Relief crashed into my system. Coolant pooled under my optics. I could see the ceiling, and the gap was large enough for me to fit through. I quickly scrambled onto my peds and stood, peering over the railing. To my greater joy, on the other side was a corridor. Freedom was within my grasp, and I was so glad that I laughed, wings returning to their horizontal position and flicking up and down in happiness.

Overcome by the euphoria of freedom, I completely forgot about the ground pounder whose bent-over form I had just emerged out of. Preparing to hop over the railing, I had not even registered that someone had grabbed my wings when a flaming sensation of pain shot through my neural network. I did not understand what was happening because I had forgotten about the arena and its crowd. Everything came rushing back at me as fingers clenched tighter into my sensitive appendages, and I cried out, thrashing in what little room I could. My only comfort was that the cloak insulated the ground pounder's disgusting touch, though that hardly made his action any less agonizing for my trembling wings.

"What do we have here?" A sickeningly pleased voice reached my audials, snide with a low purr. I growled, and pushed backward, trying to throw him off balance so I could escape. Unfortunately, I underestimated his bulk, so my shove only caused my back unnecessary hurt upon impact against his thicker plating. He chuckled, and, to my greater disgust, wrapped his other arm around my midsection.

"What's a little whore-bot like you doing here, hmmm?" He pulled me into him, and I felt his helm nuzzle against one of my shoulder vents. To my absolute horror, he opened his mouth, and proceeded to lick it lecherously with his glossa. A bristling sensation prickled over my plating, and I let out a strangled, sharp shriek of disgust. My null rays whined into activation, and I shot down, aiming for one of his peds. The blast hit, and the sick glitch let out a satisfying cry of pain, hands finally falling away from me. Wasting no time, I immediately swirled around, and pointed both barrels right into his faceplate.

"You should consider yourself lucky, ground pounder," My voice came out as a hiss, and I sneered, glaring into his comically terrified optics. "Most of your lowly kind will not experience the utter pleasure of deactivation by my hands, which is most unfortunate."

I shot him point blank, and did not even wait for his body to collapse to the ground before jumping over the railing. I landed quietly in the corridor, and swiftly hid in the shadows, taking a few kliks to gather my wits. I had not noticed before, but the crowd seemed to have calmed down a little. They still swore colourfully and made aggressive gestures, but they had gained enough sanity to not try to attack any gladiators. I glanced back, wondering if Megatron was still standing on the platform. He was not, but a few more deactivated bodies, none in one piece, joined Wrecksmasher. Some of those silly ground pounders in the crowd must have actually made it to my mech, only to suffer a painful death, of course. I felt like laughing, but settled for a soundless smirk. No need to expose my location just to celebrate of a few less grounders walking Cybertron.

Deactivating the scrapheap who dared to think I was a whore-bot worked wonders on ridding my spark of its frantic state. Once again calm, I put my attention back to my trine bond, and realized that I had closed my end in order to shut out all distraction while I was making my way out of the tunnel. Reopening my link, I caught the last few words of Thundercracker's rant toward Skywarp before both of them noticed my presence.

:_Starscream!_: Thundercracker exclaimed.

:_Oh thank Primus, you're okay!_: Skywarp followed, and he sounded so relieved to find me functioning that I suspected Thundercracker had threatened his deactivation if I were harmed in any way. :_And you're not glitching!_: He added as though an afterthought, and I instantly wanted to throttle him.

:_No thanks to you,_: I scowled as I made my way silently down the corridor, :_You teleported away without me, you slagger! And why didn't you come back to find me?_:

:_I—I didn't mean to!_: He immediately started to sprout excuses, words hurried and self-justifying,:_I thought I got you, but your hand slipped away! And I _did_ teleport back, but I couldn't find you! I landed on a couple of grounders when I went back too, and they almost grabbed me…I could've gotten in real nasty slag, Star…_: He trailed off, and my lips pulled back into a pronounced sneer. His whining was really starting to frag me off.

:_Shut up, you dolt! I have no interest in how you failed as a trine mate!_: I snapped, hissing out expletives as I forcefully steered my attention to more pressing matters, :_Now, I don't want to stay in this virus-infested slag pit any longer. Get me out of here!_:

:_Where are you?_: Skywarp had the audacity to ask, and I almost shot something.

:_Seeing as I have no knowledge of Kaon whatsoever and just jumped into the first corridor I could find in order to escape, why don't _you_ be the genius and tell me whether I know where I am or not?_: My hands clenched into fists, and I glared ahead.

:_Okay! Okay! No need to get your interface cables in a twist…_:

My null rays hummed online as rage seared through my system, and I had to stop walking just to seethe, heat rolling off my plating in waves. Both of my trine mates must have sensed my anger through our bond, because Skywarp immediately shut up, and Thundercracker cut in before I could do something impulsive, such as shooting the worker bot that had just walked past the shadow I was hiding in.

:_Come on, Star, let's focus on getting you out of there,_: Thundercracker's calm voice floated across the link, :_Finding an exit in a grounder establishment shouldn't be difficult, and it's probably unwise to attempt a rendezvous inside the arena. Skywarp, give Star a data-burst of a map of Kaon so he can look for a landmark to meet you later, after he finds his way out._:

Sometimes, all that kept our trine together was Thundercracker's calming presence. I cycled air through my vents to soothe my flaring spark, and accepted Skywarp's data-burst when it came through. I opened the package, and, to my great frustration, could barely make out what in the pits it was. Everything was comprised of practically unintelligible lines of codes, and I was surprised I could even recognize it as a map file to begin with.

:_Who the frag wrote this?_: I questioned snappishly, internal temperature once again rising.

:_I…I did…_: Skywarp answered rather meekly, and might have sounded embarrassed, but I really did not give a slag about his feelings at the moment. :_The map from the Autobot Record of Cities doesn't correspond to the actual city at all,_: The purple idiot continued in a mumble.:_The Autobots really don't give two scrap about Kaon, so they never bothered to update its map…_:

I ran another cycle of air through my vents, and felt a processor-ache begin to set in.

:_We will follow the plan Thundercracker suggested after I figure out a way to decipher this mess. Remain on standby, and wait for further instructions. Starscream, out._: I concluded our trine meeting, and abruptly cut off my side of the link. There was no time for common courtesy when I had more pressing matters at hand, such as which direction to go in since I had reached a fork leading left and right at the end of the corridor I had been travelling in.

Once again, I wanted to shoot something, and when another worker bot passed by, I gave into my impulse and jumped at the chance.

Discretion be damned – I needed to kill a grounder.

The worker bot, oddly shorter than I was, barely had the time to let out a squeak before I grabbed him by the neck cables and threw him against the wall. His body made a loud clatter as it hit the hard surface, and I lunged forward, trapping him beneath my frame. He instantly started to struggle, trying to push me off, but his efforts immediately halted after a warning hum from my null rays. Living with gladiators must have taught him to not agitate an aggressor. He did not make a single sound or twitch a single cable, not even when he obviously came to realize just how close to deactivation he was.

"Where is the closest exit to this pit-hole, ground pounder? Answer me, quickly!" As much as I would have loved to spend more time playing with the frightened bot, I preferred to leave as soon as possible. Despite my current freedom from the crowd, I was still trapped within the compounds of the arena, which was hardly a comforting thought for a lone Seeker. I had noticed by then that I must have gone in the opposite direction than the one Skywarp had led me in from. The way from which I arrived did not take half as long as how much time had passed since I started wandering on my own.

"Th-The closest exit is down the hall on the left," The worker bot trembled under my hands, and I felt excitement swelling in my spark from the sensation of fear in his energy field. "Take a right at the next corner, and then take two lefts. That will take you to the back door. You can't miss it." His words tended to stumble into each other, but for a bot looking at death in the optics, he was surprisingly eloquent.

"Good," I leaned closer to his faceplate and purred, watching with no emotion short of absolute thrill when his lips shivered. "I must repay you handsomely, ground pounder. After all, good help is a rarity hard to come by during these times."

"Th-that w—won't be necessary, s-sir…" The worker bot stuttered, blue optics becoming piercingly bright with terror, and I could feel his body shaking against my frame. His quivering thighs brushed against mine, and left small, tingling sensations on the surface of my plating. His vents spluttered, the action sending small whiffs of air against my flight sensors. My wings give tiny little flicks as my sensory clusters were tickled, and I really should have been infinitely pleased with how much despair I could instill into a mech. However, the more I studied the way the small-sized grounder stared at me, the way coolant surfaced in his terrified optics, the more ill I felt.

My null rays itched to shoot, but I could not. We gaped at each other, red optics to blue and back, and the silence suddenly became very awkward. I did not know what to do, rendered stupid by a frosty sensation of dread spreading through my spark. I did not send the command for my compact cannons to shoot, so my lips parted instead.

"Starscream," I blurted out, "My designation is Starscream."

The small grounder stared, and remained scared and trembling. I grimaced. Why the frag did I give him my name? The returning silence was even more awkward than the previous, so I quickly pulled away, stunning the mech with one of my null rays before he could attempt to run. The worker bot's optics flashed before dulling to darkness, and I let the limp body crumble to the ground. I stared at the temporarily offlined form, and frowned, pondering over why I had done what I did. I had every intention of deactivating the small mech, and no one would really care should they stumble upon a dead worker bot. However, I did not kill as I had intended, and my decision felt significant somehow.

Perhaps I did not permanently offline him because I felt obligated to let him live since he told me the way out? I narrowed my optics. That sounded absurd. I did not owe this little grounder anything. My frown deepened, and I stared at him further. Now that I took the time to look, something was a little off about this ground-bound bot. I was no expert at grounder frames, but this worker bot looked almost…underdeveloped.

Suddenly, I realized, with no small amount of startling shock, that the reason this worker bot was so small was because—…

…He was still a youngling.

The fact that I almost deactivated a youngling made me uncomfortable enough to hastily turn away and run down the hall. Following the worker bot's directions, I turned at the correct corners, and ignored the waves of nausea irritating the bottom of my fuel tank. Before long, I reached the door. Hacking the system unnoticeably to open it did not take much time. After all, I was a scientist, and the mech who wrote the security programming very likely did not even have the most basic of proper education. When the door slid open, I found myself hesitating at the threshold, wondering about the small worker bot again. However, I hastily shook my helm, and dispelled such pointless ponderings.

This was no time to be worrying about unimportant grounder younglings.

I stepped out of the door, and almost sagged in relief when I felt cool air against my wings, as polluted and thick as it was. The cloak was starting to really irritate me with the way it caressed my frame, inconveniently reminding me of the grounder who dared to wrap his arm around me, so I took it off, and threw it to the ground. The fact that it did not look any worse even after splashing into waste and chemical residue made me grimace. I could not believe I wore that dirty thing for as long as I had.

Luckily, I was alone in the alley, which was apparently located right behind the arena compounds. Accessing the confusing map Skywarp had sent me, I began to search for a suitable place for me to meet him. Decoding the map took much longer than I would have liked, but I eventually managed. Sifting through all possible locations, I had just decided on a meeting point when, suddenly, something hard and big slammed into my back.

The impact lifted me off the ground and sent me hurtling toward the wall of the building opposite of the arena. I crashed against the hard surface with a sharp cry, chassis and helm rattling as my canopy screeched in a loud protest upon contact. For a spark-seizing moment, I thought my cockpit glass had shattered, the waves of pain I received processor-stalling. However, I was fortunately reminded of how durable Seeker glass actually was when I gingerly felt around, and found no shards or cracks. Sadly, that comfort was short-lived. I quickly ran an internal diagnostic, and found out that the needling sensations over my chassis came from minor dents and scratches. While they did not exactly hurt me, they made me very nervous about my attacker. Whoever it was, he had managed to render me momentarily stunned with a shove alone.

I needed to be airborne.

I pushed myself away from the wall and prepared to take off, but as soon as I turned, a gigantic mech loomed into view, and slammed me back against the wall, pinning me immobile with his bulk. I grunted and cursed, scrabbling for purchase on the large chassis so I could push him away. I found many such places, but my shoving hardly made any change in my predicament. The big frame shifted, and hands shot out from the hulking shadow. They grabbed both of my wrists, and easily pulled them above my helm.

Now I was truly slagged. I could not even fire my null rays, which were, by then, pointed to the sky. Briefly defeated, I decided to look up at the mech, prickly words on the tip of my glossa. My lips parted, and my faceplate had already morphed into an expression of threat and fury. However, everything stopped when I finally took sight of my attacker.

A bright visor, glowing and floating in the shadows, was watching me intently. Its light was mesmerizing, strumming with blatant interest and shining with lustful intentions. I could not move. I could not speak. My spark had frozen, my spark chamber icy with fathomless terror.

I felt my attacker place my wrists in one hand to allow his other to roam, and roam it did, groping at my frame in lascivious hunger. It was everywhere, across my wings, against my shoulder vents, over my chassis. It patted my aft, and slid over my thigh. It was making its way inward, inching toward my interface equipments.

I knew I should have called out for help. I knew I should have accessed my trine bond and screamed at Skywarp to teleport here this instance to save me. At the very least, I should have put up a fight, should have given the ground pounder the verbal lashing of his existence for laying his dirty touch over my plating. However, I did nothing. I simply….could not move. The bright visor came closer and closer, and I began to shake. My optics stretched wide until they hurt, and my lips parted, its utterance falling silent before it could leave my glossa.

I knew it was not him, the mech who had violated me from a time so long ago I could barely remember what he looked like beyond a black shape shrouded in yellow-tinted mist. However, the bright visor, hovering in front of me, was suddenly much too familiar. I remained frozen, joints rigid with tension. I was overcome, completely enthralled by its sinister glow. I did not speak a single protest even when his lips descended on mine, and a glossa invaded my mouth.

The wandering hand reached between my thighs, and rubbed against my valve panel. My shaking worsened, yet I could not even let out a whimper. I remained unresponsive and still, allowing my attacker to do as he pleased. He moaned, the sound guttural and wanton, and leaned away slightly. A smirk was on his lips when he spoke, his visor frightening with its shiny gleam.

"What's a delicious little whore-bot like you doing out here?" He murmured, voice scratchy and hushed. "Had I known such a pretty little thing like you existed, I would've sold all my whores. Now, tell me, where is your master? …What I wouldn't pay to have a piece of work like you as mine…"

His way of speech instantly jolted me out of my stupor.

My optics rebooted, and my intakes gasped in a deep cycle of cool, night air.

This…was not him.

My processors began to clear.

_He_ would only call me his little Seeker, not a whore-bot.

…And apparitions did not exist on a planet like Cybertron.

I shook my helm, my senses returning, and sneered at the pathetic grounder.

"Get your hands off me, disgusting slagheap!" I started to struggle with all my might, thrashing and kicking. Not that my efforts made much difference, but Unicron-slag-me if I was going to let this mech continue his violation without dealing out at least some damage, hopefully and preferably to his interface equipment.

I was not going to let any filthy grounder's spike touch my valve.

"Ahh, that's more like it," The mech laughed, lazily pinning me harder against the wall. "This is much more stimulating." He moaned, and I froze for a few kliks.

My struggles excited the perverted slagger!

Growling and spitting out curses, I kicked harder, vents spluttering on and wings jerking violently. My thrusters hummed, on the verge of fully activating, and the air instantly grew hot. I would have laughed at the look of complete shock on the mech's stupid faceplate when he noticed my moving wings and working thrusters, but I was too angry and revolted by him to do much else aside from trying to fight him off.

"You—" He pulled back slightly to look over my body, lips hanging apart like an idiot with a glitch, "You-You're actually—…a real flier!"

I scrunched my nose bridge, and scowled angrily at him with a threatening hiss.

"I'm sure your creators will be infinitely proud that you have just reached a higher level of intelligence known as common coherency, ground pounder," I fought even harder, voice rising to a full shout: "But I would much rather see your visor darken with deactivation!"

There was a distinct sound of blunt object hitting helm, and I was extremely surprised and perplexed to find the visor, indeed, suddenly going dark. My attacker abruptly went limp, and, all of a sudden, I found myself no longer squished between the bulky frame and the wall by force, but by weight instead. I was relieved for a very brief klik before I realized that, with him no longer online to support his own frame, everything was on my thrusters. With no small amount of alarm, I cried out and tried in vain to scramble away, or, at the very least, support his body upright long enough to maneuver around it. Unfortunately, I was not able to do either, and ended up sliding down along the wall until I was lying sprawled out on the ground with an offlined ground pounder on top of me.

My vocalizer strained with discomfort, but I could not stop screaming. Not only did this utterly gross mech land right on top of me, there were waste products and possibly corrosive chemicals on the ground. My wings were drenched in a nice little puddle of questionable, wet filth, and I could almost feel the slimy liquid eating away my polish and paintjob. There was no horror quite alike to one caused by sensations of muculent, watery substance seeping into wing joints, and the feeling only made me even more determined to get out from under the grounder as soon as possible. I pushed with my hands and peds, cursing and shrieking at the unresponsive body. As hard as I tried, it still took much longer than I would have liked to finally shove the huge, unconscious thick-plated dolt of a Cybertronian off from above me.

I was so furious that the first thing I did after returning to my peds was activating my null rays and aiming at the grounder's helm. I fired, but my shots missed and hit the wall instead. A hand, out of nowhere, suddenly grabbed me by my neck cables and threw me off balance. Once again, I found myself swept off my thrusters, and I was slammed against another wall, processors reeling from the impact of my helm hitting solid metal.

This time, I recovered much more quickly. I instantly started screaming, and scratched at the third grounder of the night-cycle that had attacked me. I kicked wildly, and bucked from the wall, trying to throw him off. I activated my null rays and started shooting in all directions, careless if my shots hit target at all. What was left of my reason had finally snapped, and I went into a vengeful craze, ready to unleash every fiber of my Seekerly strength into blasting the Primus-damned brute's helm straight off from his shoulders.

I was absolutely fed up with these grounder pounders tossing me around as though I was an unfeeling, valueless drone. I was livid, consumed by rage toward everyone I could think of, including myself, especially myself, for allowing this whole situation to happen in the first place. I should have ignored Skywarp's stupid holo-video. I should have listened to Thundercracker. I should have dismissed Skywarp's stupid idea of bringing me to a pit-fight, and remained home, where I was protected, instead of sneaking out of my own damned city to Kaon of all places to see stupid grounders kill each other.

I wanted to return to Vos.

I wanted to be on my spacious berth back in my high tower.

I wanted to be clean, to be comfortable, and to be recharging away so I could pretend none of this embarrassment ever happened.

I made a rather forceful swipe at the helm of the current mech holding me captive, and the hand around my neck suddenly tightened to an excruciating degree.

"Silence your vocalizer before I crush it for you!" A deep, rumbling voice bellowed, and a big fist suddenly came flying toward me. I yelped in fear as it landed on the wall, barely missing my left wing. The sound of the punch hit my left audial with a crunching thud, and I did not need to check to know that the wall suffered the damage, not the fist. I immediately silenced as told, tensing into frightful stillness, and did not even dare think about what could have happened if that fist had hit my wing instead. As though in agreement, my wings began to shake, and they left a small buzzing sound as they trembled against the wall, breaking the silence that had settled in the alley.

Spark strumming with ebbing rage and increasing nervousness, I slowly came back to the world, and began to notice my surroundings to a clearer degree. My optics were on the same level as a broad and thick-plated chassis. It suffered so many scratches and dents that even the dried up energon abundantly caked on top of it could not take my attention away from the damage it sustained. Under the dull, purple stains, I could vaguely see a silver paintjob, but a particular pendant caught my attention instead. It was very coarsely made with jagged edges, and it was dangling from a chain, purple like split energon.

It looked very familiar.

"…Now, answer me," The voice spoke again, its rough texture holding sharp edges just like the pendant, "What business does a flier have in Kaon?" The question hung in the air, demanding an answer, and it prompted me to finally conjure up the courage to lift my helm to look at the mech in the faceplate.

My optics flicked upward, and my intakes immediately hitched to silence.

Megatron.

The mech who pinned me against the wall by my neck cables was Megatron.

I stared, wide-opticked and stupid with my lips hanging open, but I could not stop. Here was Megatron, champion gladiator, at least for the night-cycle, standing right over me with an annoyed scowl. He obviously had not yet been to the med bay, because all the damages I watched him receive from Wrecksmasher were still very much visible on his frame. The only difference was that more energon had stuck to his body and faceplate. My processors reasoned that the new stains very possibly came from the few idiotic spectators who thought it was a good idea to attack a gladiator.

I would have replied, but his hand around my neck cables was pressing painfully into my vocalizer unit. After I made many silent movements with my mouth, he seemed to realize that I was not as durable as his usual opponents, and he let out a low, curt noise. When he loosened his fingers, he looked almost reluctant, but I was too busy being relieved to dwell on trying to read his expression.

I gave my vocalizer a few experimental coughs, and found it functional, if not a bit worn for the cycle. Once I was certain I would not croak like I had a malfunction, I started to begin answering him. My mouth had already opened to reply, but he abruptly and rudely cut me off before I could.

"I hope you do not plan on doing any more screaming." He stated. "It was piercing enough to shatter a mech's auditory sensors."

Embarrassment hit me with a vengeance as I remembered just how much of a fool I was making out of myself only breems before, and I sneered up at him, trying to pretend I was not aware of how much my cheek plates burned from the rush of energon to my faceplate.

"Well, your audials are still functioning fine, aren't they?" I bit out, "Or else you wouldn't be asking me questions." My hands rose to pull at his fingers around my neck, and I only made half-sparked struggles because I did not want to appear as meek or submissive in front of this mech. I did not think for a klik that anything I could do would damage Megatron to distract him long enough to release me.

_Unless…_

An idea hit my processors, and I felt a smirk beginning to lift the corners of my lips, but I bit it back. My idea would not do me any good if I made any indication that I had it, after all.

Megatron must have decided my question was rhetorical, for he did not look particularly inclined to respond, so I continued speaking instead.

"And to answer your original inquiry…" I tilted my helm sideways minutely, and graced him with a small smile. "I came to Kaon to watch a pit fight, of course." My hands relaxed around his, and I began to trace the edges and crooks on his hand with my fingers.

Megatron remained motionless and hard to read. His faceplate did not express any emotion.

"But more specifically…" Not discouraged in the slightest, I continued to purr, and moved my attention to his wrist, fingers dipping into the seams to brush lightly against the hidden cables. "I came to watch a certain gladiator…" I allowed my voice to coyly lilt, and relaxed into his firm hold around my neck cables. Shifting carefully on my thrusters, I slowly parted my thighs, the gesture so slight that any other ignorant ground pounder would not have noticed, but Megatron's reaction was instantaneous.

I knew he saw. The brief narrowing of his optics told me that he saw everything indeed. His line of sight flicked downward for a split klik before he returned to watching my faceplate, and excitement instantly began to bubble from my spark. I had to forcefully push it down to keep control over the urge to grin at the volatile mech.

"This certain gladiator," I carried on, bringing my voice lower to a whisper, "has a certain appeal…" Fingers brushing over his arm and chassis, I tilted my helm to expose more of my neck, and traced the edges of his pendant. "…that captivated me." I dimmed my optics to a hazy glow, and sensually arched my back-strut by a minute degree. Features softening into an expression most inviting and suggestive, I waited for his next move, expectant but patient.

He watched me closely, and took one step forward. I parted my thighs further to accommodate his size, and my spark flared as his energy field left a tantalizing caress against my own. He continued to remain silent, but his lack of words did not bother me. It only meant that I had his undivided attention.

"He captivated me so much that I escaped from my city, and came here to find him," I leaned into his touch still wrapped snuggly around my neck cables, and pressed my palms flat against his chassis. "…All this trouble," My hands slowly slid down, "just to see…" They reached his hip plates— "…if he truly is everything I have imagined him to be…" –and hovered right above where his interface equipment lay hidden, the tips of my fingers teasingly close.

…I knew he wanted me.

I knew he wanted me even without the sensors in my fingers telling me of the heat his crotch plating was giving off in waves.

There was no ground pounder who did not wonder what interfacing with a Seeker was like. After all, our metal was soft, our forms smooth and sleek. Our wings were sensitive to the extent that rumours of Seekers overloading on touches to their wings alone circulated between the grounders.

…I could tell how much my gladiator wanted me from how blank and unreadable his faceplate was. If he did not want me, he would not remain so perfectly expressionless.

"What I found instead…" I held my words for the tiniest of moments, and rested my hands over his spike housing, relishing in the way the heat burned my fingers, "…is someone who is even more exceptional…"

This was not far from the truth. Megatron was an exceptional ground pounder for me to even consider willingly touching him. The way his joints flexed as he moved, the way his massive form exuded strength and command, the way he pressed his lips tightly together as he thought, the way his optics flared like exploding suns during moments of passionate fury…they all enticed me.

He stepped even closer, and our energy fields finally touched, mingling and creating tingling sensations all over my neural network. His optics shined brighter, casting a glow to the dried energon on his faceplate in the dark. I wondered how I looked under their abundance of light, suddenly wanted him to tell me just how desirable he found me to be.

He slowly nudged one of his knees between mine, and advanced closer, the top of his thigh coming within contact range of my more intimate plating. If I were to only bend my knees to the slightest degree, my valve panel would sit against him, and that mere thought alone made my cooling fans click on. Heat began to gather in my core, throbbing with my rising desire. The moistening, quivering walls of my interface port clenched inside me, wanting to be touched by thick, rough fingers. My lips parted, uttering a small moan. Overwhelmed by the most carnal of yearnings, I felt the inside of my valve cover begin to mist over with lubricant.

"Is that all you wanted to do here in Kaon, flier?" My mech spoke quietly, though his voice lost none of its commanding qualities, "To watch?"

My hands moved to settle around his hips.

"No." I answered, and pulled him toward me with a forceful tug.

Our crotch-plates came in full contact, and the sharp sting of pleasure was so intense that I moaned loudly, intakes hitching with a gasp. I knew the only reason I was able to move him was because he had allowed it, but just the notion that he had done so was making my spark swell in even greater vigor and impassioned eagerness. He had allowed me to move him because he wanted it, because he wanted _me_ to move him, and that his desire toward me was enough for him to relinquish just a little control.

He let out a small grunt, and his optics flashed. His lips pressed tighter together, and his brow ridges curved into a slight frown of smoldering concentration.

His heat, pressed against mine, felt exquisite.

He came closer, and slowly began to shift his hips. He rubbed against me, and the heightening pleasure surging through my system was so strong that I whimpered, optics flickering offline. He continued the motions, grinding our crotch-plates together, and moved his hands. They cupped around my aft, and lifted me closer toward him, inevitably sweeping me off the ground. My intakes spluttered with another gasp as the change in position caused his crotch plate to come in direct contact with my valve panel. The pressure was firm, and I cried out, helm thrown back and hands grasping around his shoulders.

Lubricant was beginning to pool behind the thin covering of my port as the air became hotter around us.

His fans hummed just as loudly as mine.

He resumed his movements, rubbing against the plating hiding my valve in earnest.

I shivered, uttering a shaky moan and pulling him closer still.

…My resolve was slipping.

More, I wanted to say, biting my lips as my vocalizer made a loud, needy keen.

The only barrier between my wet interface port and the Kaon air was that slim, protective panel, which was starting to slowly shift aside…

I had to act before things got out of hand.

Megatron let out a deep groan then, and I almost felt bad about what I was planning to do, but I quickly reminded myself that I was Starscream, Crown Prince of Vos, the epitome of perfection of all flier frame types.

I could never allow myself to stoop to the level of a ground pounder.

I onlined my optics, and watched Megatron's faceplate. He did not notice my gaze. His optics were darkened. His expression was that of concentration, pleasure, and desire as he continued to move, but there was also relief and contentment, as though the last time he had let anyone this close without suspicion or trying to deactivate the other was much too long ago, and that he had just remembered how good it felt.

I almost felt bad, but my perfection must remain intact until I spark-merged with a chosen intended bond-mate. Everything up to this point since my first touch on his plating was simply an act to ensure an escape, nothing more.

With a swift swing, I lifted my legs. I curled my knees, and placed my peds flat against his chassis, thrusters making a small click against the metal of his thick-plating. His optics onlined in a flash, but he did not even have the time to be surprised. In a split of a klik, I activated my thrusters to full blast, and sent him stumbling away from me. His chassis was scorched, but I knew he was fine. He was sturdy enough to handle a little burn.

I shot up in the sky as soon as he was far away enough to allow me room to take off. I did not dare spare him a single backward glance.

I felt his optics on me until he could no longer see me.

I flew blindly, uncaring about which direction I was heading in. My spark shook so violently in my spark chamber that I actually forgot to transform into jet mode as I soared through the air, processors reeling with a dizzying array of questions and emotions. Down by my sides, my fists clenched tighter. They trembled with the same force as my wings, which almost seemed to have lost their ability to navigate the winds.

All I could think about was the cold sensation of slowly drying lubricant behind my valve panel.

Skywarp teleported next to me with a "pop" a short while later, having spotted me flying over where he was as he waited for my comm.-link to activate. His sudden appearance startled me so much that I almost open-fired on him, which made him holler most dramatically and skid in the sky. In the end, he teleported both of us back to Vos, and the night cycle concluded with me lying on my recharge berth after a joor of placating Thundercracker that I would explain everything later, which I did not plan to do.

As I lay on my berth, curled up and wings shivering, I thought about the expression on Megatron's faceplate while he held me close in his arms.

I wondered, the question haunting my processors until recharge claimed me, whether that expression would ever appear on his faceplate again.

I hoped it does.

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><p><strong>Notes:<strong> I tried really hard to update yesterday, but it just wasn't going to happen. I'm very sorry about that. Editing takes more time than writing, I find. I can write up to ten pages on a very good day, but editing-wise, I can only do about four. I have…no idea why. XD

Does anyone know how to put two punctuation marks together? Say, a "?" with "!" to make a question sound more forceful and snappish? FF seems to automatically correct it as "?", and it's bothering me because sometimes "? !" (no space) is what I meant. Please help! :(

I really hope you enjoyed this chapter (or at least the naughty bits), and please leave me a few words letting me know what you think. Thank-yous to all those who read and added my story to favourites/alerts. Special shout-outs once again to my lovely reviewers: _Koluno1986, Lumira Constance, Ashcola17, Random523, confuzzled-neko, Devlinn Reiko, Riley, _and _PwnKage_. I really appreciate your comments and enjoy reading them immensely :)

I'm not very sure when the next chapter will be posted, though I will try my best to update in a week. School will be picking up in workload very soon, so I hope to post more chapters before I get lost under the heaps of textbooks.

Before I go, I'm curious if anyone recognizes the segment of music from my profile avatar. If you know what it is, please drop me a line! I will be all kinds of ecstatic if you recognize it because that piece of music becomes a great source of inspiration toward the later half of the volume. It was written by a German composer, and was composed in the 1850s ;)

…So, review now? ;))))


	4. IV, V

Disclaimer: I wish I owned :(

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><p>IV<p>

"What in the pits has gotten into the two of you?" Thundercracker stood between Skywarp and I, optics flashing brighter with agitation and worry.

I did not answer him, hands curled into fists down by my sides. I was too busy glaring with all the vehemence I could muster at Skywarp, who dared to have the spark to glare hotly back at me.

Ever since the trip to Kaon, I had been ignoring Skywarp's attempts at explaining himself in hopes to make me forgive him. I had no intention whatsoever of doing so. His transgressions were simply too great. I could not understand why he would even consider replicating Seeker wings to sell in the slums of Kaon, and his nonsense babbling at trying to justify his actions did not help dispel my confusion and disgust in the slightest.

Every cycle since the incident, Skywarp followed me around, whining and nudging at my wings. Despite his irritating tenaciousness, I paid him no attention, opting to pretend he did not exist. However, when he tried for the umpteenth time to return to my good graces with a most unbearably atrocious comment, I finally lost all patience and reservation toward him as my trine mate, and punched him in the faceplate.

"What's so bad about grounders wanting some Seeker wings anyways?" He had said half-jokingly, "You should see it as a compliment!"

…I felt the energon in my fuel lines boil just thinking about his remark.

To make matters worse, not only did Skywarp dare suggest that I should see ground pounder perversity as flattery to flier-kind, he had the nerve-circuits to growl and take a swing at me with his fist after I dealt him appropriate punishment. I did not anticipate his retaliation. After all, even the mere implication of violence toward me, the Crown Prince, would violate so many Vosian laws that the offender would spend several vorns stuck in solitary confinement. However, I had obviously underestimated his level of insolence and stupidity. He made a swipe toward me as soon as he recovered from my punch, and hit me on the side of my helm.

The only reason I could think of as to why he missed my faceplate was probably because he forgot that I was half a helm shorter than he was.

Leave it to Skywarp to forget about how tall his trine leader was.

As soon as his hit fell, I fought back, and we quickly became a sprawled mess on the floor trying to throttle each other. At first, Thundercracker merely stayed on the sidelines, undoubtedly convinced that we were not serious about our brawl. This was hardly the first time I had gotten physical with the purple idiot, so Thundercracker probably assumed that Skywarp, being the better Seeker in close-quarter combat, was only trying to placate me as I landed kicks and punches. Even though my blue trine mate watched us with keen optics, he would have never suspected that Skywarp would actually attempt to harm me in any way. However, that quickly changed when the purple slagger was very apparently trying to prove his superiority:

He forced me under him on the floor, and started to pull on one of my wings.

The strain on my wing joint hurt like slag, and I screamed, clawing at the snarling faceplate hovering above mine. Skywarp winced from the sound I was making, and I was only allowed a brief moment of satisfaction from seeing him grimace before Thundercracker finally intervened, yanking Skywarp away. The mediator of our trine grabbed Skywarp by the wing tips, and dragged him all the way to the other side of the room. I instantly got up to make another lunge at Skywarp, pain momentarily forgotten in favour of contemptuous rage. Thundercracker immediately came between us, acting as a physical buffer, and held us apart as well as he could.

Both Skywarp and I suffered minor damages, but neither of us was discouraged from the notion of another round. I would have much preferred to take our disagreement to the sky, where I would, without doubt, kick his aft spectacularly despite his annoying ability of teleportation. Unfortunately, in order to get to the sky, we would need to leave the room, which would unequivocally make Skywarp's underdeveloped processors come up with the ridiculous conclusion that I had admitted defeat. I narrowed my optics, and scowled at Skywarp. I would have never conceded to a fight on the ground under normal circumstances, but if Skywarp wanted a fight, I would not back down.

He was the one in the wrong in the first place, Primus-damn-it!

"Stay out of this, TC," Skywarp growled, frame shaking with anger. "I'm sick of this little slagger acting like he's got his vents stuck up his aft!" He shouted, baring his dentae, and pointed rudely at me. "He's been treating me like a pile of scrap for a whole Primus-damned deca now, and I'm fragged off! He's gonna apologize to me or I'm poundin' him into the floor!"

My optics narrowed further, forming thin slits, and my cooling fans rumbled with a low, raging whirr. My frame trembled, and, for a long moment, I only seethed, thinking of all the delicious ways with which I would show him just why _I_ was the trine leader and he was not. Admittedly, there was very little I could do while confined indoors to someone who grew up as a scoundrel in the lower levels. However, I had a weapon that could hurt far worse than any fist, and I was far from tentative about using it to my advantage.

My sneer slowly unraveled, and morphed into a sweet, malicious smirk. I tilted up my chin, and gazed at my fuming trine mate with no expression short of scornful disregard and amusement.

"That's rich, coming from someone who's been _begging_ for my forgiveness for the past entire deca." I spoke liltingly, and let out a string of pearly chuckles. "However, my dearest trine mate, you seem to have forgotten about something very important," I feigned a look of hurt, and lowered my voice to a purr, lips puckering into a teasing pout:

"…Those of your class beg on their knees, Skywarp."

For a moment, Skywarp only stared at me, optics widened and lips parted from a silent gasp of shock. His intakes skidded to a full stop, and he looked completely stricken, frame rigid and wings stiff. Thundercracker snapped his helm around, and was so horrified that he rebooted his optics as though he could not believe I was indeed his trine leader. They were both appalled by what I had said, expressions darkened by dismay. The air became static with tension, and, for a brief klik, I could not quite decide whether the trembling in my spark was satisfaction or regret.

"…_Starscream_!" Thundercrakcer finally broke the silence with a breathy, harsh exclamation of disbelief, but whatever he had planned on saying afterward was almost instantly cut off. Skywarp snapped out of his petrified stupor, and he began to shake. His optics combusted into brightened spheres of resentful anger, and a loud roar of pure rage tore from his lips.

"You little glitch!" He cried out, faceplate twisting into a jagged snarl of fury, and instantly lunged toward me, hands outstretched to grab me and beat me to the ground. Thundercracker jolted in surprise at the sudden movement. However, as shocked by my statement as he still was, he did not forget to hold our purple trine mate back. He could barely keep Skywarp at bay, struggling visibly. He shivered when the enraged Seeker let out more cries of utter infuriation promising violence, and periodically sent me glances of reproach.

I was not exactly unprepared for Skywarp's reaction to my words. Anyone who has had even the most minimal of interactions with my purple trine mate knew that his class status in Vosian society was a topic best avoided. No one quite knew why, but Skywarp always became extremely livid and rather destructive whenever his less-than-desirable background came under discussion. No amount of punishment could make him feel even the slightest remourseful about sending the commenter to the med bay either, so no flier was particularly inclined to delve into the mystery.

In truth, I was expecting him to react in such a manner. I had succeeded in landing my attack, and I haughtily mocked him further by flashing him an amused, arrogant smirk, crossing my arms over my cockpit. Usually, I would refrain from taunting a bigger mech who was anything but foaming at the mouth, but I had Thundercracker to keep the rabid idiot away, so I was safe. As long as Thundercrakcer was here, Skywarp could not possibly come close enough to harm me, so I was assured to enjoy my victory to the fullest. Unfortunately, I had forgotten that all situations had the possibility of unpredictable outcome. I had failed to take into account that Skywarp, despite being a drooling imbecile most of the time, had a chance for uncharacteristic ingenuity.

Thundercracker continued to fend off Skywarp's advances, frame stiffened in an unyielding push. He was exerting himself to keep our purple trine mate back, which was why Skywarp's sudden back-step threw him completely off-balance. Skywarp slipped from Thundercracker's grasp for barely half a klik, but an instance was more than long enough for him to activate his warping system. He disappeared in a puff of purple smoke, and my flight sensors caught the current of the incoming punch from behind me before my processors even realized what had happened.

The fist hit my left wing right where it connected to my back, and an excruciating pain crashed over my neural grid. The agony was so severe that my optics blanked out, and I could barely gasp, processors reeling from the sensory input. Hands grabbed my shoulder vents, and pulled down, bending me backward. I was not allowed a single moment of reprieve before Skywarp kneed me right where his fist had fallen only a few kliks before, and I saw static.

I must have screamed, but I could not know for sure. My processors were wiped clean of thoughts, and I fell to the floor, unable to move due to the stabbing, swelling burn from my left wing joint. My entire body shook in sharp spasms, and my fingers grappled against the floor. If I did not know better, I would have thought my wing had been ripped clean off from my back. It was still attached to my body, though, and I knew that no flier, no matter how angry, would ever inflict enough damage to another flier as to render the other unable to fly.

…But by Unicron did it _hurt_. My sensors were on fire. Sharp, stinging pain pierced through my core, and my spark jumped erratically, frantic in my spark chamber.

An eternity must have passed before my processors once again took notice of my surroundings. I was sprawled out inelegantly on the floor, faceplate to the ceiling. My vocalizer made tiny little sobbing noises, and coolant fell abundantly from my optics in streams. A thought lazily floated across the misty haze of agony, wondering how pathetic I must have looked. Shame tasted bitter on my glossa, but even still, I could not stop quivering on the floor, whimpering like a sparkling that made a fall during his first lesson of flight.

Skywarp was standing over me with a big scowl on his faceplate. He shouted down at me, gesturing wildly. I could not quite catch what he was saying, but just from his tone of voice, I could tell he was obviously still as angry as when he first punched me in my wing joint. However, he was no longer physically attacking me, and that was all I really cared about at that moment.

Thundercracker quickly appeared into my line of vision, and forcefully pulled Skywarp back. There were loud knocking sounds coming from the doors, and Thundercracker's voice gained an edge of fear. An explosion shook the floor I was lying on, jolting my injured wing joint, and I whined loudly in protest. Hurried ped falls came closer and closer, and finally, I regained enough processing power to figure out what was going on.

The guards had apparently burst into my trine's common quarters. Their sudden appearance was a little surprising. After all, scuffles between trine mates were often left alone by others to be sorted out within the trine itself. There was also a strict ban on anyone other than my trine from entering these chambers, the only exception being the cleaning staff. The ruckus Skywarp was making must have been extremely loud to have led the guards to believe that there was legitimate threat to my safety.

"—violation of Section one hundred and forty two of Vosian Act of Allegiance-"

"But this is a matter strictly within our trine—"

"No citizen of Vos, no matter of what relation to the Crown, is exempt from—"

"-I suggest you keep your wing tips out of the matters of the _Royal Trine_, soldier!"

Thundercracker was arguing heatedly with the guards, who were trying to arrest Skywarp for attacking me. For a brief moment, I wondered why the calm and reasonable Thundercracker was losing his temper over the matters of a stupid purple slagger. The guards were only following the code Thundercracker's own ancestor-units solidified, and there was no flier more familiar with Vosian laws and regulations than my blue trine mate. There was really no reason for him to become so agitated over the guards trying to do their jobs, but that thought did not last long in my processors. Embarrassment at being bested by the aforementioned stupid purple slagger quickly overtook my short-lived pondering, and my spark instantly answered with an overwhelming surge of wrath.

"_You!_" Wiping my faceplate clean of coolant, I staggered onto my peds, and pointed accusatively at Skywarp. "You—…You insolent piece of scrap!" My vocalizer glitched mid-cry, making a hiccup in my voice, and I grew even angrier. All optics in the room immediately turned toward me, and, suddenly at the center of attention, the quivering in my wings and my lips worsened. My wing joint's suffering returned with a vengeance, and my spark shivered, releasing a swelling wave of yearning for sympathy and comfort. My frame began to shake. Coolant once again threatened to spill down my faceplate. I bit down harshly on my dentae, and cursed my spark for wishing that someone would come closer to hold me and rub my wing better.

"What is your command, your Highness?" The leader of the group of guards addressed me, and put a hand over his spark before making a small bow.

My optics narrowed, and I gritted out a sneer.

"Put him in solitary confinement until further notice, and deactivate his coordinate system. I want him thoroughly punished and sorry by the time he's released!"

The guards all froze for a klik before they remembered to nod in acknowledgement of my order. Thundercracker looked at me with shock, and Skywarp, to my extreme annoyance, only pressed his lips tighter together. His whole demeanor spoke of provocative defiance, and he dared to stick out his chassis as though he had accomplished something to be proud of. This made me even more furious at everything he had done, and my hands curled into fists.

"Arrest him!" I shouted at the guards, who were moving too slowly for my liking. They immediately acted faster, and reached for Skywarp with stasis-cuffs already activated.

"No! Th-There must've been a misunderstanding! Stop!" Thundercracker still shielded the purple idiot, optics flashing from the guards to me, "Star, you can't be serious! No breech of law is above a hearing!"

I doubted Skywarp understood the severity of the situation. Pits, even I did not really know how much slag Skywarp had gotten himself into this time. No sovereign of Vos had directly ordered an arrest on a Vosian citizen since the beginning of the Golden Age, but I was beyond caring at that point. Skywarp refused to apologize and plead for a lesser sentence, so I was not about to budge. After all, who was I to deny my wayward trine mate a chance to experience the best disciplinary method my city had to offer if he so desired it?

Thundercracker was still frantically trying to block the advances of the guards. "Starscream!" He cried out to me, optics bright with desperate plea for me to call off my command. For a moment, my spark genuinely hesitated, but my processors slammed the hesitation to nil.

Skywarp deserved to be put in his place.

One of the guards finally got a firm enough hold on Thundercracker to drag him away. Protesting loudly, my blue trine mate struggled and yelled at the guards to stop. I frowned in slight confusion. Thundercracker was sure making a big fuss about Skywarp spending a little time in a locked, but otherwise fairly comfortable room. Skywarp would be cut off from the sky, yes, but energon rations would be given to him at regular intervals. I was hardly going to lock him away forever. This surely could not be that bad.

Skywarp growled as the guards neared him, and he looked readier than ever to put up a fight. However, before the guards managed to place even a single digit on his plating, Thundercracker took in a noisy gasp of dread, and let out a hysterical cry:

"Get out of here, Skywarp! Teleport! Now!"

Skywarp startled from the shrill desperation laced in Thundercracker's usually smooth, gentle voice, and gave our blue trine mate a surprised and confused look.

"_Now!_" Thundercracker cried out once more, bucking against the guard that held him back. He gazed at Skywarp with an expression almost pained, and his lips remained parted, as though speaking silent utterances no one aside from our purple Seeker could hear.

Skywarp looked into Thundercracker's optics for a few kliks more, and promptly disappeared with a puff of purple smoke.

The guards stared blankly at the spot where Skywarp was, unsure of what to do.

…If I had anything within reach to throw at the guards, I would have.

I was _surrounded_ by _idiots_!

"Well? What in the pits are you waiting for! Go find him!" I shrieked, and swung my hand pointing toward the door.

The guards exchanged a glance before answering me with a bow, and they left, exiting the room in an orderly fashion.

Before long, only Thundercracker remained my company. We did not speak to each other, still submerged in the lingering tension in the air. My cooling fans worked overtime trying to bring down my high core temperature, and I shifted on my peds, wincing when my wing joint continued to send waves of throbbing pain over my neural network. A quick internal diagnostic told me no immediate medical attention was required, so I placed the trip to the med bay at lower priority. There was a matter more imperative I wanted to address, so I cycled air through my intakes, and waited for the worst of my anger to pass before casting my optics toward Thundercracker. I was a little peeved that he told Skywarp to escape, but I was much more interested in—

"What in the pits has gotten into _you_?" I asked, and could not stop a sneer from curling my lips. My fury might have been momentarily appeased, but it was far from being gone. I waited impatiently for a response from my remaining trine mate, and huffed irritatedly through my vents when he failed to comply. I was just about to snap out the question again when he finally broke out of his rigid stillness, inclining his helm in my direction.

Instead of heaving a deep sigh like I expected, Thundercracker slowly turned toward me, and actually _glared_. A shadow of visible resentment darkened his faceplate, and the intensity behind his slitted optics was enough to pierce me straight through the spark. I was very much taken back by the look, spark giving a small lurch of hurt. I had never seen my amiable trine mate wear such an expression before, and it made me very uncomfortable, if not slightly intimidated.

"Do you have any idea what you almost did?" Thundercracker's voice was lower than usual, and it cut through the tense atmosphere of the room like a blade.

I remained unmoving, and tried to appear surer about my decision than how I felt. However, despite my best efforts, I could not stop my wings from flicking nervously.

"Of—Of course I do!" My voice was high in volume and bite, but even I could hear my own hesitation.

Thundercracker immediately jerked away with a strained hiss from his intakes, and covered his faceplate with a hand. He ground out curses, and his wings twitched unevenly on his back, agitated by his emotions. Thundercracker was rarely angry enough to swear, but when he was, he frightened even the bravest of mechs. I felt my stubbornness crumble a little, and peered at him with slight apprehension.

"…Why do you always do this, Starscream?" He did not turn around to address me, which made me both offended and nervous. Not only was the gesture rude, it also prevented me from seeing his expression, which meant I could not determine what his next course of action was. I tried to keep quiet, to refrain from answering, but the silence greatly bothered me. In the end, I chose to answer, glancing off to the side and making a face.

"Do what?" I asked back in a grumble.

"Act so impulsively!" He instantly swirled around in a blur of blue wings, and his voice abruptly took on the full meaning behind his designation, "Why did you have to bring social hierarchy into our trine, Starscream? _Why!_" His optics flashed into a sharper red, and his lips twisted into a grimace. I jumped at the sudden, loud outburst, and found keeping his gaze extremely difficult.

He was right.

I knew he was right.

Trines were not formed based on the class system, but rather on speed compatibility, maneuver capacity, and whether all Seekers' aerial skills were complimentary to each other or not. This meant that, in a trine, all three Seekers were essentially equal. The trine leader was assigned based on who the best flier was, and his trine mates followed him out of respect toward a better flier, not societal background.

This meant that, in matters within the trine, no trine mate should ever use his social status as leverage.

Of course, most of the time, trines did consist of Seekers from similar social classes. It just happened that mine was a rarity in which this obviously not the case. I really should have known better than to say what I had said to provoke Skywarp, especially while knowing it was a sensitive topic. However, I was simply too proud to lose, too proud to let Skywarp best me, and too proud to admit to Thundercracker that he was right.

"Skywarp attacked me." I stated flatly, tone cold and expression firm.

"Because you attacked him first!" Thundercracker retorted.

"And he should not have retaliated when I did!" My voice rose in volume.

"Why not?" Thundercracker took a step forward, "He had every right to, especially from the way you've been treating him!"

"You know very well why not!" I took a step forward as well, not backing down, "I am the Crown Prince, the ruling monarch to whom you've all sworn allegiance to! I practically own all of you, Thundercracker, so I can do with you as I please!"

Thundercracker's optics widened in surprise for a split klik before they abruptly narrowed again, gaze harshening into a glare. He bit his dentae, and his wings trembled on his back.

"How _dare_ you," He hissed before rising into a shout: "How dare you say such a thing about our trine!"

"Oh _please_, TC, stop being so melodramatic." I grimaced, "You know it is true!" I turned away with a sharp huff, and hid from the sight of my blue trine mate's optics, which were overabundant with emotions. "My duty to Vos essentializes that I am to remain above you, just as how all fliers are above ground pounders. My personal matters cannot get in the way of my reign over my city!"

"What—?" Thundercracker began awkwardly, and shook his helm as though unable to understand my argument. "—Just what in the universe are you talking about, Starscream? What does your duty as a monarch have anything to do with our _trine_?" He spluttered with incredulity. "Duties? Your reign over your city? We're talking about you and Skywarp here!"

"I know what we are talking about!" I shot back, crossing my arms over my chassis with a pointed glance toward his direction.

Thundercracker was so frustrated that he was at complete loss of words. He struggled to come up with a response, lips remaining parted. When it became apparent that he was rendered effectively speechless, he closed his gaping mouth, and cycled his vents for several kliks. His wings continued to tremble, but when he spoke again, his voice was softer.

"…Just tell me why you ordered an arrest on him, Starscream."

I could not believe he was _still_ asking such a thing, turning toward him with wide optics and an affronted expression.

"He _attacked_ me!" I yelled indignantly, voice gaining in pitch.

"Because you provoked him, knowing fully well what would have happened when you did." Thundercracker was not about to give in, standing firm on his peds as he pressed on.

"That still gave him no right to do so!" I shouted back.

"Why not, Starscream? After all, you assaulted him first. Why couldn't he do the same?"

"Oh for Primus's sakes, Thundercracker, do I need to put it in a data pad for you to understand!"

When Thundercracker did not reply and merely waited for me to continue, I spoke without thinking twice.

"Because I am his Crown Prince – that's why!" I snapped at my blue trine mate, stomping down a thruster and making a punctuating swipe with my hand.

Thundercracker did not reply, and the air quickly became heavy with silence. I gathered back the hostility in my posture, and slowly frowned. Uncertainty was not an emotion that frequented my spark, and it shivered a little in my spark chamber. I felt like I should apologize for something, but I could not quite figure out what I should apologize for.

What ridiculous absurdity. I should never have to apologize for anything.

"…You knew exactly what you were doing, Starscream," Thundercracker broke the silence, and he wore an unreadable expression on his faceplate as he spoke, voice soft and devoid of any fluctuations. "You were very deliberate when you chose what to provoke Skywarp with, and you knew exactly what was going to happen when you took a stab at his background. Tell me, honestly, _tell me_, were you really that surprised when he attacked you in such a manner?"

No, I was not, but I did not need to say anything to him. Justification was for lesser mechs, and I was royalty. I only pursed my lips together stubbornly, and glared. Thundercracker kept his helm inclined toward me, and he waited, hoping I would respond. However, he quickly realized that waiting was futile, and his gaze turned hard, bearing deeply into my optics.

"And when he reacted in the way you expected him to," He continued, "your choice of action as the Crown Prince of Vos is to order his arrest to send him to the brig?"

I opened my mouth, ready to voice my displeasure at being needlessly lectured at, but my words died before they left my lips.

Wait…

The brig?

Since when did the brig come into discussion?

"…That's right, Starscream," Thundercracker seemed to take my silence as my answer, pinning me with his unwavering stare. "An arrest as a direct command from the sovereign results in confinement within the brig. Don't tell me you didn't know that."

I did not.

I did not know Vos even had a brig until several vorns ago, when Skywarp accidentally teleported both of us into one of its cells. We had materialized into a metal-plated room, and it was so small that we were pressed right against each other within it. There was no current, no light. Almost instantaneously, Skywarp grabbed me and got us out. Later, upon consultation with one of the older advisors, I found out that we had been temporarily inside a cell-chamber designated for a medium-sized flier. The one meant for Seekers were even smaller, rendering any inhabitant completely immobile. Why Vos had the need for such establishments was beyond me, and the only answer I received was that there were traitors once in Vos. That was why brigs were deemed a necessity, to be the appropriate punishment worse than death.

I stared back at Thundercracker, a chill prickling through my spark.

Skywarp almost got put into the _brig_ because I ordered his arrest without knowing what the consequences were.

"…—Of course I knew!" I blurted out, the silence suddenly too suffocating for me to bear. At first, Thundercracker did not seem to realize what I had said. Several kliks passed, and, slowly, his unreadable expression changed to that of horror. He did not speak for almost an entire breem, frozen solid by my words. I shifted uncomfortably on my peds, and averted my gaze.

…I wondered if saving my pride by lying was worth the look of betrayal in my blue trine mate's optics.

In the end, my pride won. I was not about to admit that I did something without meaning to. Besides, I would have immediately rerouted Skywarp from the brig to the confinement rooms when I found out what I had done, and Skywarp teleported away before he could be caught anyways. The guards would not find Skywarp until Skywarp himself decided that returning to Vos was safe, and, by then, I would have already changed the punishment attached to his arrest.

There was really no harm done. Skywarp was a frequent enough visitor to the confinement rooms that he would have no adversity toward recharging there for a few cycles.

Thundercracker looked down, and his wings began to shiver. His faceplate was hidden from me, and he turned, slowly walking away.

…What in the pits—…Where was he going…!

"…TC?" I called out, confused by his mannerism.

He paused at the door, and his wings stiffened on his back.

"…Don't call me that, Starscream."

His whisper was soft, but it held an iciness that froze me to the core.

I watched him leave, staring after him even when the doors slid closed. I was stunned, not knowing how to interpret his behaviour in the slightest.

Eventually, I came to the conclusion that everything was Skywarp's fault. If he did not bring back that stupid holo-video in the first place, none of this would have happened.

A particularly sharp stab of pain reminded me that my abused wing joint still needed medical attention. Cursing silently, I walked out the door, and made my way to the med bay.

Stupid trine mates could wait _after_ I had proper repairs.

* * *

><p>V<p>

A small ping from my personal comm.-line jolted me awake from my light recharge on the medical berth. Groaning, I onlined my optics, and stared at the high ceiling of the med bay.

:_What is it?_: I asked, still somewhat groggy.

:_Prince Starscream, it has come to my attention that a Seeker is missing._: Nightfire's voice came through, sounding worried.

I groaned again, and squirmed on the berth, wanting to return to recharge. Nightfire was starting to unnerve me with the speed at which he found out everything that happened in my tower.

:_Skywarp's fine. He's just being a stupid fragger as usual._: I answered without caring that I was using inappropriate words, which, under normal circumstances, I tried my best to avoid. I was royalty, and royalty did not say things like "fragger". However, a "fragger" was what Skywarp was at the moment, so I saw no reason to not use such a term.

There was a slight pause, and I wondered if Nightfire was pursing his lips in disapproval.

:_…Skywarp, your Highness?_: A confused inquiry was the response to my statement instead.

I became confused as well.

:_Isn't that what you wanted to talk about?_:

:_Negative, Sire._: Nightfire paused again. :…_Is what happened with Skywarp…a matter within your trine?_:

:_Something like that._: I sighed through my vents, and decided to change the subject before Nightfire could become curious about my trine's most recent bout of drama. :_What was it that you originally wanted to talk to me about, Nightfire?_:

:_Oh, yes,_: Nightfire seemed appeased by my answer, since my trine's problems were none of his business, and continued on, :_I've contacted you in hopes of receiving your permission for a search party, your Highness._:

:_A search party?_: That instantly gained my attention.

:_Affirmative, Sire._: Nightfire began to explain, :_A Seeker from my family unit, designation Firechaser, appears to be missing. Approximately five cycles ago, he received permission for an extended leave to Iacon for purchasing scientific equipments he needs for his next experiments. However, he has not been heard from since finding appropriate lodgings at his destination. The last time anyone had any contact with him was three cycles ago, and, prior to his departure from Vos, Firechaser was instructed to comm. his creators at regular intervals, which he dutifully kept until mid-stay at the Autobot capital._:

I frowned, and made a thoughtful hum, wondering what could possibly be withholding young Firechaser from returning home.

Firechaser was the youngest member and the only Seeker sparked in Nightfire's family unit of Space Shuttles. For a Space Shuttle coding pool to produce a Seeker was indeed rare, but leave it to Nightfire's to accomplish such a feat. Since Firechaser was a rarity, everyone he was even remotely related to doted on him, their comparatively fragile youngest. They showered him with affection, and had collectively attended his first flight with the Elite Seekers of Vos, a rite all fully matured Seekers took after finishing their rudimentary academic studies. I was at the ceremony as well, awarding him with a medal for showing great promise in the field of scientific research. The young Seeker had looked extraordinarily proud wearing the rather frivolous trinket, beaming as though I had given him a sun.

While Firechaser was not amongst the fastest, his Space Shuttle origins made him overall larger and sturdier than most Seekers. His size and durability were what ultimately convinced everyone that, despite his young age, he was capable of travelling to Iacon by himself. A trip of such distance should only take a Seeker of his speed at around a few joors each way, give and take one or two depending on how often he took rest stops. Being of the generation of fliers who had never seen Cybertron outside of Vos, Firechaser would naturally want to take his time to sightsee upon reaching the Autobot capital. However, no matter how distracted he might have become, his complete lack of contact was quite disconcerting.

There was no reason for Firechaser to simply drop all communication with Vos. From what I know, he was a responsible young flier. I would be very surprised if he had simply forgotten to keep his promise to comm. his creators.

:_What did he say during his last transmission?_: I asked Nightfire, gazing pensively at the med bay's ceiling.

:_His last transmission was to Stormwing, your Highness, a friend he has been close to since he began his academic studies. Before Firechaser departed from Vos, Stormwing asked him to purchase a new set of beakers, and Firechaser had briefly contacted Stormwing to confirm his order._:

:_Firechaser was already at Iacon then?_:

:_Affirmative, Sire, Stormwing believes that Firechaser was comm.-ing him from the equipment store in Iacon._:

:_Very well,_: I sat up on the medical berth, :_I will send you an official document stating consent to your request after I contact the Autobot Senates at Iacon. I doubt they will have any problems with us looking for one of our lost young. I will comm. you to let you know once everything is taken care of. Contact Stormstrike for the search party. He would want you to explain the situation._:

:_Affirmative, Sire. Thank you. I will do as you instructed._:

As my conversation with Nightfire ended, I got off from the berth, and gave my newly repaired wing an experimental flick. No discomfort met the movement, and I was infinitely pleased with the result. After a few quick words with my Head Medic, I left the med bay, and started making my way to the conference chambers at a leisurely pace. I was in no great hurry to see the unpleasant faceplates of the Autobot Senators, and the situation was not so dire that I could not spare a few breems to stroll.

Despite wondering about what could have happened to Firechaser, I was not exactly worried. He had gone to Iacon's science district, one of the safest places on Cybertron. It was a scientist's haven, and the crime rate there was extremely low. Firechaser reached there by flight, and would leave by flight, which made abduction by ground pounders practically impossible. However, the fact that he was at Iacon five cycles ago and still had not returned to Vos was a little odd. Nightfire was a cautious mech, but he would never call for unnecessary action. If my advisor saw the need for a search party for young Firechaser, then a search party would be dispatched.

I just hoped Firechaser had not gotten himself enticed by some ground pounder like I was.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes:<strong> Sorry for the lack of length and Megatron. Our favourite gladiator won't be returning until the chapter after the next, I'm afraid, after the plot has advanced a little more. Sorry about that :((

**((**PLEASE READ the below**))**

I think I should explain my concept of a "family unit" in this story before I cause any confusion. This might be a little vague, but, depending on the context, "family unit" can either mean creators-sparkling(s), or the entire family tree with all the uncles and aunts. In case there are misconceptions, Firechaser is _not_ Nightfire's sparkling. They are only cousins. The "family unit" referred to during Firechaser's intro paragraph includes all members of the family tree.

So, what did everyone think of the trine fight? ;)) The POV made certain things a bit hard to blatantly suggest, but Thundercracker actually doesn't know (at the moment) what Skywarp has been doing in Kaon (i.e.: selling Seeker wings). If he did, his take on the quarrel between Starscream and Skywarp might differ, but then again, TC will always have a soft spot for Skywarp in this story, so maybe not. I'm really curious as to whose side you ended up being on, so please drop me a line or two and let me know. I would love to hear your reasons why :D

Thank-yous to everyone for reading and favouriting/alerting. Special shout-outs once again to my wonderful reviewers: _Koluno1986_, _Ashcola17_, _Riley_, _Devlinn Reiko_,_ soundbarrier_, _The Happy Shark_, _PwnKage_, _wolf-dream94_, _Erren_, _Death by Shovel_, and _Random Reader_. You have no idea how excited I get when I see your reviews :)))) I love all of you. Your comments are like little bits of sunshine on rainy days (which happens a lot where I live XD).

Well! I think this ending note is long enough. Next update will be in a week. Please stay tuned and be patient with me! I promise Megatron will be making more frequent appearances in the future.

Now, before I go…

See that shiny little button at the bottom of the page that says "_review this chapter_"? Click it! Click it! You know you want to!

I'm in a shameless mood today. XD


	5. VI

Disclaimer: Not much is mine.

* * *

><p>VI<p>

A whole deca passed, and still no word on the whereabouts of Firechaser.

There was no word on the whereabouts of Skywarp either, but I was not at all concerned. Despite being an idiot, Skywarp would not get himself easily deactivated. The fact that Thundercracker still went about his cycle tending to his duties was proof enough that Skywarp was functioning and fine. I knew they were in contact with each other, but I never asked Thundercracker about it. The only conversation we have had about Skywarp since our argument was very brief, and my blue trine mate was the one who initiated it.

"I talked to Skywarp the other cycle," Thundercracker had tried to pass as nonchalant as he handed me the data-pad Nightfire was supposed to deliver. "He said he's already forgiven you."

"Forgiven _me_?" My fingers tightened around the edges of the data-pad. "He's the one who should be worried about being forgiven in the first place! I did nothing wrong and have nothing to apologize for."

And that was all.

Despite being civil, Thundercracker and I stopped speaking to each other unless necessary. There was a distance between us that was not there before, but neither of us commented on it. Sometimes, I would catch him glancing purposefully at me during morning court, but I always ignored his searching optics. If he wanted to talk to me about something, he should ask for my audience, not look at me expectantly as though _I_ should be the one to act in accordance to his bidding.

The situation with Firechaser has been gaining more attention by the cycle, not just within Vos, but in many other cities on Cybertron as well. Ever since the Autobot security service became engaged in the search, seeing Firechaser's image file over the central broadcasting system of Cybertron became a regular occurrence. Vos quickly came under the spotlight of ground pounder media, and I found myself refusing more entry requests from reporters as time went by and Firechaser remained missing. I was not amused by the sudden eruption of blatant, nosy interest toward my city, which was why I was already in a bad mood by the time my periodic meeting with Sentinel Prime, the head of Autobot security service, arrived.

The screen gave a flicker, and Sentinel Prime's red faceplate appeared, stoic and rather bland. His lacking expression certainly did not help ease my annoyance, though he did look a little irritated upon closer inspection. He did not enjoy these pointless, procedural meetings any more than I did, or so it would seem, and that observation pleased me to a small extent.

"Sentinel," I nodded in acknowledgement out of politeness. After all, I was the representative of Vos, and I had my city's reputation to consider.

"Your Highness," He gave a small nod back, courteous and stiff. I felt the corners of my lips tilt upward into a small smirk. Hearing the bearer of the Matrix of Leadership address me as "your Highness" was the one perk I looked forward to during these meetings. It stroked my ego with pleasant warmth like nothing else in the universe.

"Thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule to report to _me_, Prime," I spoke sweetly, and discreetly lifted my chin. "I will not go into great lengths about my city's appreciation for your hard work, but know that everything you do means much to me and my fliers, especially your inconveniences."

Sentinel Prime's blue optics flashed for a split of a klik, but he otherwise showed no indication that he caught the underlined message in my words. I bit back a chuckle. I have always loved extracting as much amusement as I could when dealing with these silly, self-important ground pounders. I was very deliberate with my speech. My expression of gratitude had much less to do with recognition of his services than telling him just who the one in charge was between us. I wiggled comfortably in my chair, and leaned against the backrest. My null rays glinted under the light, and he gave them a brief glance before making his reply:

"There is no inconvenience, your Highness. You are always worth my time."

I would have been offended at the implication of a sarcastic comment, but his voice was quite impressively emotionless, so I let it slide somewhat begrudgingly. "Of course," I answered with a neutral response, and felt my interest in toying with him beginning to dwindle. Sentinel was a kill-joy in every sense. He was not as motivated as the Senators in humouring me so I would listen to what he had to say. Huffing through my vents, I decided to get to our business before I became too bored with him, and moved on to address the purpose of his call:

"Now, Sentinel, do you have any updates for me in regards to Firechaser?"

"Affirmative," The Prime answered, tone crisp and professional, "but not in our favour, I'm afraid. The most recent lead we've had turned out to be a dead end."

'_Again_', I added in my processors, and sighed in frustration.

"However," Sentinel continued, "there is another matter an officer of mine has recently notified me about that might be of interest to you."

"Speak," I waved a hand carelessly, crossing my legs and sinking into a casual posture.

"Approximately two deca-cycles ago," He began, "one of our surveillance cameras caught something interesting in Kaon airspace."

My spark startled a little in my spark chamber, and my joints stiffened. I was not anticipating such a topic, and was therefore taken by surprise. However, I was quick to recover, carefully schooling my expression into that of beguiling calm. I watched Sentinel study my faceplate through the video feed, and forcefully kept my gaze firmly attached to his.

"It was alone at first, but was later joined by another." The Prime spoke on, voice reflecting none of the sharp, interrogatory glint in his optics, "They remained mostly stationary in the air for a breem or so, and then proceeded to vanish from view." He paused deliberately to allow me time to respond. I did not, and his optics narrowed by the smallest degree.

"…Nights are especially dark in Kaon, your Highness, and the airspace above it is covered in chemical fume. Identifying the two objects was somewhat difficult. However, upon closer examination, they appear to have been fliers, Sire. More specifically, they appear to have been fliers of the Seeker frame type."

"Your point?" I spoke curtly, and felt my expression harden.

"I checked the logs you have sent me regarding entry and exit of Vos," Sentinel Prime answered, faceplate and posture revealing no particular emotion, which bothered me to a great degree. "Corresponding to the appropriate dates, the logs state that there was no entry _or_ exit during that night cycle." He tilted his helm minutely in pretentious contemplation, and uttered in a mild voice: "I found that to be most curious, your Majesty."

I did not speak or move. The only disadvantage a flier had in situations where he wished to conceal his thoughts was the involuntary movements of his wings. The reflective nature of wing movements to a flier's mood was a reflex, and to control such reflex was almost impossible. Luckily, my wings were pressed snug against the backrest of the chair, which rendered them immobile and kept them from making any noticeable jerks or flicks. I remained silent and still, jaw hinges tense and gaze unwavering. I did not grace Sentinel with a reply. It was hard determining just what was festering inside his processors.

The only thing more awkward than silence during a faceplate-to-faceplate meeting was silence over video contact. Despite my growing discomfort at being watched so closely by the Prime, I remained impassive, my lips sealed. Sentinel stared back at me. He did not look like he cared at all that I was watching him equally as closely. A prickling sensation crawled up my back-strut. My wings wanted to shake, and I discreetly pressed them firmer against the backrest.

"The security measures at Vos are impenetrable." Sentinel broke the silence with a statement, but his voice also held a questioning tone.

"Of course!" I snapped, offended that he would even suggest that Vos's level of security was anything less than perfection. I knew I was jumping right into a trap, but my pride would never allow any impertinent ground pounder to doubt my city's abilities to keep out intruders.

The Prime made a low hum, and his optics grew narrower.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I have heard rumours that Vos is home to a Seeker who has the ability of teleportation."

I knew he was going to mention Skywarp eventually, but my spark still shivered when he precisely used the term "Seeker" and not "flier". I would not be surprised if half of Kaon knew about Skywarp, being that he had already made quite a reputation for himself in its slums. However, I still felt extremely irritated to hear this Autobot talk about my trine mate as though his warping ability was common knowledge.

"You are not wrong." I replied, crossing my arms and glowering at the Prime.

Sentinel did not seem deterred at all by my glare and reluctance to cooperate. If anything, he appeared to have been encouraged to push further. As if to emphasize his intrusive nature, he leaned forward, making his faceplate loom larger on the screen. The simmering, icy glint in his optics completely contradicted the peace and harmony its cool hue suggested. He scrutinized me, and slowly opened his mouth, carefully uttering his response in a cold voice completely devoid of fluctuations:

"I have also heard that this Seeker is a part of the Royal Trine."

My spark jumped in my spark chamber, and my optics involuntarily widened. I could not stop the reaction of shock from dawning onto my faceplate, lips falling slightly apart.

Skywarp might be stupid, but he had no reason to mention a position like that to anyone he had met at Kaon. If he had half a working processor, he would not have used his real designation to begin with, let alone give out his status as the Crown Prince's trine mate. The existence of trines within Seekers was not known to ground pounders until Skyfire's essays on fliers were published, and my trine mates had never appeared in any meetings I have had with Iacon. While I would not doubt the Autobots suspected that I had a trine, the probability of Sentinel Prime hitting the mark on the identity of one of my trine mates without any reliable sources was practically zero. This was much too incredible to be a mere coincidence.

How did Sentinel find out? Who could he have possibly found out from? Only fliers knew which two Seekers became my trine mates, and all Vosians had sworn to keep affairs within my city a secret from those outside of it. How did this ground pounder find out about Skywarp?

Sentinel was still waiting for my response. An almost imperceptible tinge of smug delight seeped into the glassy glare of his optics, and I felt my lips pull into a sneer, fingers curling into my palms. I was not certain what the Prime was trying to accomplish with his questioning, but I was not about to let him have the last word. There was very little I could say without admitting to his suspicions, so I replied with the only answer I could give:

"I fail to see how this matter has anything to do with Firechaser, Sentinel. I must insist that you focus on your assigned objective and stop sticking your nose-bridge into business you have no right to delve into. Last time I checked, _you_ are here to answer _my_ questions and not vice versa."

"I apologize," Sentinel made a small bow with his helm, not looking apologetic at all. However, he seemed to have realized his limitations, and easily returned to our original topic. "In regards to Firechaser's case, I have issued an increase of search perimeter, and have recruited more suitable mechs for the search teams." He reported, "I am confident that we will find real lead to his whereabouts very soon, your Highness."

"Good." I let out a terse huff, and had to push back the urge to scowl at the Prime's ugly faceplate. In that moment, I decided that his time with me was done, and hurried to conclude our unpleasant meeting.

"Contact me as soon as you have updates to report. If I am unavailable, leave a message on the mainframe, and I will get back to you," I instructed hastily, and leaned forward in my chair toward the console. "Thank you for your time." I ground out with much reluctance, and did not allow him a moment to accept my dismissal. I reached to terminate our video connection, and my fingertips brushed against the blinking button.

"_Wait_."

I froze, wings jerking on my back as my joints tensed.

His voice hardly rose in volume or pitch, but it halted me completely. My hand hovered over the console, but, for unknown reasons, I could not press the button down. The word, almost drawled out and lazy, had stopped me entirely. His tone, though even and polite, held command that made my joints seize in motion.

I felt a chill shiver over my wings.

"Those compact cannons on your shoulders," His optics swept over them with concentrated interest, "Are they of Vosian origin?"

I looked up, and waited till his optics once again met mine.

"…My null rays are of my personal design, Autobot." I spoke coolly, keeping everything about me as expressionless as possible.

Sentinel Prime made another small hum, and his optics drifted thoughtfully toward my weapons once more.

With a swift tap, I ended the transmission.

I decided immediately that I was going to be too busy for another video meeting with him for the next several cycles.

I sighed through my vents, and rubbed my faceplate. There was nothing I wanted to do more than to go back to my chambers and recharge for the rest of the deca. I had not been getting decent rest for the past few night cycles, and Nightfire had begun to notice. He worried over me, thinking my insomnia to be a result of pressure and stress from Firechaser's case and Skywarp's continuing disappearance. I told him I was fine, and that I was definitely not stressed over a certain purple idiot's decision to take an unannounced vacation. However, that was not entirely true.

Any trine leader would worry if his trine were to become as scattered as mine. I had not taken my trine mates for a proper flight together for a very long time now, much longer than I would have liked. While we _did_ have our trine bond to ensure the perfection of our maneuvers, there were irreplaceable nuances that could only be achieved from flying together on a frequent basis.

Unfortunately, my schedule alone made spending time with my trine mates a difficult task. Thundercracker's numerous duties certainly did not help the matter either. At least Skywarp was more available than we were, before he disappeared altogether that was, and he had the advantage of being able to travel long distances in a klik. My trine had tried to train as often as possible, but even those few times were almost always interrupted midway. We had not flown any intricate formations for decas, and I truly worried if we were still as flawless as we once had been.

I could always grab Thundercracker for a quick flight around Vos. However, without Skywarp, flying simply would not be the same, as much as admitting such fact frustrated me. Not only that, but flying with only Thundercracker would arouse questions, questions a disturbed Vos did not need on top of a missing Firechaser. So far, news of Skywarp's disappearance had not reached the audials of those outside my tower, but mechs were already starting to notice the lack of pranks happening around Vos. Fliers were beginning to wonder what my troublemaking trine mate could be up to, but there was no appropriate explanation for them to be had. During a time of unease, my citizens needed the reassurance of a unified constitution. I could not simply tell them Skywarp had left due to a stupid, petty argument within my trine. What would my fliers think of me?

With a deep sigh, I sunk into an undignified pile in my chair, and frowned miserably at the blank screen in front of me. On top of the situation with Firechaser and my missing trine mate, I was not getting enough recharge because I have been plagued by thoughts of Megatron.

Megatron! A ground pounder gladiator!

Just thinking about it angered me, but it also brought up the inevitable question of why he kept reappearing in my processors in the first place. He was strong, yes. He was charismatic, yes. He was amazingly good at deactivating his kin, yes. However, that gave him absolutely no right to invade my thoughts while I was trying to recharge! And I definitely was _not_ feeling bad about stopping him from spiking my valve. I had already given him the best night cycle of his sad, meaningless life by allowing him to touch me. I did not need to feel obligated to give him any more than that.

…But I wanted to.

I wanted to give him more than just caresses to my body, and this desire sickened me.

I quickly shook my helm to clear my processors. I still had the rest of the cycle to go through. This was not the time to be thinking about Megatron.

…Or his hard, thick plating, or his burning red optics, or his large, strong hands, or the way his hips shifted as he—

I wanted to slap myself, and quickly got up from the chair with a pointed huff.

I doubted Nightfire would appreciate my excuse of being late to a meeting with him being that I lost track of time because I was fantasizing about a lowly ground pounder.

…Whose heated crotch-plate almost burned my finger tips as I—

-_Aaaargh!_

I knew the guards were looking at me strangely as I violently shook my helm. I felt hot energon rushing to my faceplate, and quickly scuttled out the doors before they could see me become inappropriately flustered. Walking down the hall at a brisk pace, I took in large gulps of cool air, and fought to keep my excitable spark from fluttering in yearning. When I realized that my efforts were not exactly successful, I promptly decided that I could not stand another meeting in a stuffy conference room, and hastily comm.-ed my advisor.

:_Nightfire, where are you?_:

:_Greetings, Sire,_: Nightfire replied right away,:_I'm already at the conference room waiting for your arrival._:

:_Change of location._: I hurriedly instructed as I turned a corner,:_Meet me at the topmost flight deck. We're taking our meeting to the sky._:

:_Affirmative, your Highness. I will be there shortly._:

Arriving at the flight deck, I immediately felt better, intakes stuttering as I took in the welcoming sight of endless, unrestricted space. A soft breeze floated around me, stroking pleasantly against my plating, and my stiff wing joints languidly relaxed. The cycle was cool. The sky was clear. The conditions were perfect for a leisure flight. By the time Nightfire arrived, I was already smiling and happily flicking my wings, eagerly anticipating the sensation of firmer wind against my tingling sensors.

"Your Highness, it is an honour to fly by your—" Nightfire began as he made a low bow, but I was impatient.

"Yes, yes, yes, very good," I waved the formalities aside, and gave the Space Shuttle a big grin, "Fancy a game of tag?" I had not indulged in any youngling games for vorns, which was why I was already giddy on my thrusters before Nightfire even answered.

"…Sire, I—" Nightfire's optics widened, surprise written all over his faceplate. "…Not that I don't want to, your Highness, but…you are a Seeker, my Lord, the fastest Seeker in all of Vos. A Space Shuttle like me…" His fingers clutched around the edges of the data pad he was holding, and he trailed off, unsure of how to respond.

"I'll _let_ you catch me, Nightfire," I airily replied, and waved aside his worries. Activating my thrusters, I lifted myself up until we were faceplate to faceplate, and teasingly tapped him on the nose bridge. "Come on, big mech," My grin widened, and I quirked my helm coyly to the side, "when was the last time you took on a good challenge?"

Nightfire still looked hesitant, and I almost became annoyed when an idea popped into my processors. My grin morphed into a mischievous smirk, and I pushed away from him, hovering out of his reach.

"I refuse to listen to anything you have to report unless you catch me, Nightfire." I declared with hands on my hips, feeling extremely pleased with myself.

"B-But Sire—" My Space Shuttle friend spluttered in protest, but I flippantly cut him off.

"You can stand there all cycle stuttering like a fool, _or_ you can come catch me. Your choice!" Without another word, I swirled around, and took off. I shot up in the air, spark reeling in bliss from the feeling of cool wind against my wings and my flight sensors. I remained in base-mode to give Nightfire an edge in our game, but I was not about to let him tap my wing without making him work his thrusters off.

At first, I did not hear him ascend into the air. I almost worried that he had simply given up. However, as I engaged in a few lazy barrel rolls, the deep, rumbling sound of a Space Shuttle accelerating reached my audials. My grin was wide enough to split my faceplate in half, and my spark gave a little jump of excitement. Despite having a large size that decreased their agility, Space Shuttles were great to include in flight games. The sheer magnitude of sound their powerful thrusters produced as they sped up was enough to make any flier look on in awe, and, in a game of tag, this was what made half the fun.

I looked down, and caught the sight of Nightfire's black alt-mode hurtling up toward me. My optics glided over his form in silent appreciation. He must have pampered himself in the morning. He positively glistened under the sun Cybertron had recently been caught in the orbit of. The polish he wore gave his black paint a radiant sheen, and light reflected off the smooth lines of his tail fins beautifully.

_Very nice_…I smiled indulgently, and felt my wings perk up higher on my back as I waited for him to come closer. When in alt-mode, Nightfire lost all of his prim and proper self, and became a force ought to be reckoned with. I wondered when the last time he had chased a Seeker was, but dismissed the thought since it did not matter. After all, I was not just any Seeker. I was the perfect Seeker.

He advanced upon me with a wave of surging strength that could only be found in Space Shuttles, and began to tilt, getting ready to tap my wing tip. I almost laughed. Did he honestly think this game was going to be that simple? The air around me began to stir, disturbed by the currents from his acceleration. I offlined my optics, and could almost feel the way his smooth metal glided against the winds.

He abruptly turned on his axis, his right wing aiming for my left, and I immediately boosted my thrusters to swing back. I darted away with a graceful flip, and he missed me by a mere wingtip.

I onlined my optics, and laughed. I could almost imagine him cursing in his processors as he did a flip himself and righted his form. He circled back, swerving sharply around to make another attempt at catching me. I gave my chin a small upward jerk in challenge, and instantly flew away in the opposite direction. I took him in swirls in the sky, sometimes teasing him by staying still in one place but ducking away as soon as he came close. I drew geometric shapes in the air, taunting him as he tailed me, and spurred him on to join me in a playful dance in the sky.

I flew and flew, feeling progressively lighter as tension bled off my frame like the vapour condensations atop my plating. The combined weight of my duties and troubles evaporated, and I was left completely overtaken by the thrill of flight, thoroughly unburdened and free in the vast, limitless ocean of open space. Every sensor in my body sang as I soared high above my city, and I reveled in the way the wind's cool touch brushed over my heating circuits. The pure joy of flying was transcendentally euphoric. I started to laugh, stretching my arms out wide and opening my palms. I was so immersed in the sensation of elevated bliss that I forgot about everything that had ever troubled me, and only focused on how _wonderful_ being a Seeker truly was.

I eventually slowed down to a stop, and waited for Nightfire to gain up on me. Several kliks later, he did. When he noticed I was not planning on flying away again, he transformed back into base-mode, and slowed down to a hover beside me. He reached for my left wing, and gently touched its tip. His fingers tickled over my flight sensors, and my wing minutely twitched. Our game had concluded, but its pleasant aftereffects lingered, leaving both of us in a very good mood.

"You look very happy with yourself, your Highness," Nightfire's optics sparkled as he smiled at me, and I laughed.

"I'm always happy with myself, Nightfire." I chirped back cheerfully, and playfully stuck out my cockpit. Nightfire's smile grew into a grin, and he chuckled, helm ducking minutely as though a little shy. Amused by his mannerism, I grinned as well, and heaved a content sigh through my vents. The cycle truly was perfect, and I allowed myself a few moments to savour the beautiful view of my shimmering city before turning my attention back to my advisor.

"So," I addressed my Space Shuttle with amble curiosity, wings flicking back and forth, "what was it that you wanted to speak to me about?"

"Ahh, yes," Nightfire made a small nod, and reached into his subspace. He felt around for a small while, taking out the data pad once he had located it. He looked very relaxed, optics glimmering pleasantly with a soft smile adorning his lips. "The matter at hand is probably not as serious as I previously thought," He explained with a sheepish expression on his faceplate. "Sometimes, I tend to over-think things."

I giggled, and poked him on the arm with a finger.

"I'm surprised it's possible for you to realize that, my Shuttle friend!"

We shared a laugh, and basked under the warmth of the sunlight.

Returning back to business, Nightfire turned on the data pad, and opened his report, scrolling through its contents. "In short," He started to summarize, "a number of fliers from the dispatched search teams have been telling me about a ground pounder attempting to recruit them for an unclear mission." With a tap of his finger, he activated the hologram application, and I floated closer toward it, scanning the paragraphs swiftly with my optics.

"The first attempt at recruitment happened in Iacon, when one of the Fighter Jets ventured out to get a cube of highgrade during his off-duty shift," Nightfire continued to report. "Of course he brushed it off and went on his way, thinking it to be a joke. However, another jet in his unit also had contact with the same ground pounder within the next deca."

"This all happened in Iacon?" I frowned, wondering if this was a sad attempt at gaining the favour of my fliers from the Autobots.

"Negative," Nightfire shook his helm, and scrolled to the next page. "The same ground pounder appeared in other cities as well, though he does seem to be most active in in his capital."

"How persistent," My shoulder vents gave a huff as I crossed my arms over my chassis. "I'm guessing you have information on this mech?"

"Not much, I'm afraid." Nightfire's brow ridges furrowed slightly, "There was little information I was able to find about him from the Autobot Registry, but he had introduced himself as Soundwave."

"Soundwave?" I briefly wondered what this grounder could look like with such a designation. "Did he say what he wanted to recruit the Fighter Jets for?"

"He only mentioned his superior needing flight-capable combatants, Sire," Nightfire answered dutifully, "and that there will be great compensation for any flier willing to take his offer."

"That practically answers nothing." I scrunched my nose bridge in distaste, and began to feel irritation bubbling in my spark. How dare this grounder and his master attempt to buy the service of my Fighter Jets! Any mech requesting the aid of my citizens must contact me directly and _beg_ for my permission! Not that begging would make much difference – I would never agree to any terms. I would never allow my fliers to work for a stupid ground pounder, but, regardless, that stupid ground pounder was required to ask me first.

"Soundwave didn't specifically say," Nightfire replied, glancing at the hologram report before adding on, "but it sounded important."

"Of course it did," I scoffed curtly, and made a face. "Tell all Fighter Jets to relay a message to this grounder for me if he remains persistent."

"Affirmative, Sire. One moment, please." Nightfire quickly opened a recording application on his data pad, and held it up toward me, "Commencing voice documentation, your Highness."

I nodded, and, as the flashing light on the data pad turned green, began my address:

"As absolute authority of Vos, I, Starscream, henceforth bestow all dispatched units the right to respond with hostility should they again be approached by Soundwave and/or any possible cohorts. Inform this grounder messenger: as long as I am Crown, no citizen of Vos will ever be debased to serve his master no matter how great the compensation." I paused slightly to tilt my helm to the direction of Iacon, and narrowed my optics,

"As long as my city stands with me as its monarch, no pair of wings will ever suffer the humiliation of subordination to a ground pounder."

"Affirmative, Sire," Nightfire seconded my statements earnestly, and made a low bow. "All hail Prince Starscream."

My wings hiked up higher on my back as my spark swelled in pride. There was nothing quite like hearing your subordinate hailing your designation.

I gave Nightfire a swift nod when I finished, and he straightened before turning off the recording application.

"Is that all you wished to speak to me about?" I asked just to be sure.

"Oh yes, I just thought I should let you know of this incident." Nightfire sent me a small smile, and went on to open another application on his data pad. As he tapped at the screen, he murmured to himself, a habit all members of his family unit seemed to be prone to:

"And now…I'll just send the document to Stormstrike…ahh, yes, and cancel the background search on this 'Megatron'…"

My body instantly stiffened as my spark did a little skip in my spark chamber.

"…M-Megatron?" I repeated breathily, wondering if I had heard wrong. I tried to appear as only faintly curious, but I could not stop myself from staring at Nightfire in surprise. Thankfully, Nightfire was too focused on his data pad to notice my reaction, and continued his light tapping.

"It's nothing, your Highness," He answered after a few kliks of suspenseful silence, and shook his helm slightly in reassurance. "One of the Fighter Jets thought he'd heard Soundwave mention a designation, so I've been running background searches in the Autobot Registry. The only matches I've found so far are of a deactivated general who fought in the Great Quintessonic War, and a common labourer who used to work at an energon mine. Neither seems to be likely employers, don't you think?" Nightfire turned off his data pad, and chuckled good-naturedly, "So I suspect the jet simply heard wrong."

"Yes, that must be so," I nodded distractedly, and watched Nightfire subspace his data pad.

On our flight returning to my tower, I could not stop thinking about what Nightfire had said. While there _was_ the chance that the Fighter Jet had truly misheard Soundwave, I could not help but think that this situation was not a mere coincidence.

Megatron wanted to recruit fliers? What could he possibly want us for? Pit-fights were certainly not the type of combat anyone would expect a flier to participate in, but what other reason could there be for a gladiator to attempt buying the service of my Fighter Jets?

As much as I knew I should not bother with this incident, I became progressively more curious about what Megatron was up to. As I landed on the flight deck of my tower and dismissed Nightfire, I realized with no small amount of frustration that this mystery would probably bother me until I found its answer. Begrudgingly, I decided that I needed to make a trip to Iacon, the place where this Soundwave was apparently most active. I could only hope that my presence away from Vos would attract the attention of the ground pounder messenger, and, if I'm lucky, maybe I would get a chance to see Megatron again.

Not that I wanted to see him particularly. _Someone_ needed to tell him off from hackling my fliers, and who else would do a better job than the Crown Prince of Vos?

I could not wait to slap my authority in his faceplate.

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><p><strong>Notes: <strong>Early update surprise? ;))

I realized as I started editing that this chapter is also very short, so I decided to finish it quickly and get it to you guys so I can move on to the next chapter. The next chapter, as you can probably guess, will involve the second meeting of Starscream and Megatron, which means the next chapter is very, very long.

I'm not sure when I'll be able to finish editing the next chapter due to its length and upcoming exams. However, I am aiming for next Friday or the next weekend to update.

Customary thank-yous once again to my readers and those who favourited/alerted. Special shout-outs to my special reviewers _Koluno1986_, _dellykins_, _Devlinn Reiko_, _Riley_, _Chibi Oro_, _Ashcola17_, _Aira Slytherin_, _Kitt SummerIsle_, _The Happy Shark_, _tiedwithribbons_, _CuteandUgly_, _PwnKage_, _Ransom523_, and _Death by Shovel_ for taking the time to give me valuable feedback and to share your thoughts with me. I greatly appreciate and enjoy reading your comments! There is nothing as rewarding as hearing what you guys think about every chapter :)

Anonymous Reviewers: Since I cannot reply to you, I thought I should take this opportunity to give you my personal thanks. Thank you very much for leaving me reviews! They truly mean a lot to me, and I'm extremely happy to hear that you enjoy this story :))))

So, what did everyone think of Sentinel Prime? Admittedly, I'm not entirely familiar with his character, so I took liberties interpreting his personality and motivations based on what I've seen from "Origin". You can view him as half canon and half OC if you like. I'd love to know what your first impression of him is, so please leave me a few words if you can.

I think my personal favourite part of this chapter is Starscream's flight-tag with Nightfire. One of my most frequently reoccurring dreams is flying in the sky, and the freedom associated with it is absolutely intoxicating. I really hope I conveyed that sensation well enough. I really wanted to share that with you.

Anyways, this ending note is long enough. Thanks again for reading! I will hopefully return by next Friday. ;))

Ps: Review for early update? :D


	6. VII

Disclaimer: This chapter contains segments based on the happenings from _Megatron: Origin_, which I, sadly, do not own. Woe is me :'(

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><p>VII<p>

Iacon was exactly as I remembered it.

Silver, tall buildings imitating Vosian towers reached for the sky, pretentious in their prestige. They were lit not by its walls, but by electric energy produced by massive generators in the outskirts. Wide, metallic bridges lined with bright lights looked like shining fuel lines from my vantage point high in altitude. Vehicle alt-modes sped along the intertwining veins of streets, brightening the sky with their flashing headlights. The grand Autobot capital of Cybertron strummed with life, enveloped by a cocoon of bustling noise. Unlike other ground pounder cities, Iacon had a rather orderly ground plan, which gave it an academic and formal appearance. It was easily the most accessible for fliers, having wide enough roads to allow room between buildings for even Space Shuttles to comfortably cruise through.

:_Prepare to descend._: I pinged Thundercracker as the tallest building of the city came into view. The building was the central headquarters of the Autobot Senates, and it bore a large, red Autobot insignia on every one of its sides.

Just as tacky as I remembered, I thought, and would have narrowed my optics in distaste had I been in base-mode. With Thundercracker by my right wing, I dipped my nosecone, and began to slowly glide down. As with any other grounder city, Iacon emitted enough heat for the air currents to be strong enough to support my weight without my active effort, so I deactivated my thrusters, and simply allowed the wind to carry my wings. Thundercracker followed suit in perfect synchronization, and I imagined Skywarp doing the same by my left wing.

Not having Skywarp with us felt extremely odd. This was the first time since Skyfire that I was returning to Iacon, the first time I was publically making reappearance outside of Vos, and the first time the Autobots would finally have visual proof of the existence of my trine. Based on Vosian customs, such an occasion required a lengthy procession displaying complete mastery of the air in the form of a perfect trine. Standard greeting dictated that I should lead my trine mates in complicated maneuvers that would captivate all optics in Iacon in assertion of our various superiorities. However, Skywarp was not here, and I would much rather leave the Autobots wondering where my other trine mate was than having to ask the purple idiot to return to Vos pardoned of all his transgressions.

:_Let's circle around the Autobot headquarters before landing just to make them wait a little longer._: I sent Thundercracker comm., and wanted to snicker, feeling rather mischievous. Just because I did not plan on doing anything fancy did not mean I was going to pass a chance of flaunting my beauty to the pathetic, ugly ground pounders crawling Iacon's streets.

:_Of course, Starscream._: Thundercracker sounded a little exasperated, but I knew he secretly enjoyed being gawked at too. After all, he was a Seeker, and no Seeker would protest to an opportunity of being gawked at.

We were low enough to already gain the attention of many grounders. They looked up with wide optics as we flew by, and waved enthusiastically. Some were even excitedly calling after us and jumping on their peds. By the time we started circling the Autobot headquarters, all traffic had stopped. Ground pounder civilians transformed out of their alt-modes, and watch us fly with unabashed fascination. Their avid gazes followed us as we made our way around the building, and they mouthed various exclamations of amazement when we began to touch down, lowering closer to their level.

I could see the Autobot Senates with their guards standing right in front of the entrance of the building, waiting for us to land. I was pleased to also note that many, if not all, of the Fighter Jets assigned to Firechaser's search teams were here as well, wings high on their backs in attention as silent acknowledgement of my arrival. We were nearing the building, and an air of anticipation arose from all onlookers, especially from the common mechs gathered around. Thundercracker waited for me to begin my transformation sequence so we could simultaneously land. When I still made no indication of doing so as we neared our designated landing spot, he quickly comm.-ed me in confusion:

:_Starscream? Are we not going to land?_:

:_Not yet. Transform first, but don't touch down,_: Giddiness bubbled from my excited spark, and I answered hastily. :_They're all waiting for a spectacle, Thundercracker, and I plan to give them one they will never forget._:

:_If you wish…_: Thundercracker sent me a curious ping before transforming in mid-air. However, instead of landing, he hovered, and I could feel his optics on me as I carried on forward. With a strong urge to grin and no warning whatsoever, I abruptly activated my thrusters to full force. In a split of an instance, my speed increased tenfold, and I charged toward the Autobot Senates, accelerating onward with only the wind as my companion.

I reached full speed in less than three kliks. The resulting sonic boom swept over the crowd, and evoked a rippling wave of gasping intakes. I shot forward, and my engines screeched in delight when the expression on the Senates' faceplates wrinkled into panic. Even the Autobot guards, bound by duty to protect their charges, looked hesitant to step in front of my flight path. I laughed, and the sound was lost as the air was split. Over the deafening howl of rushing currents by my audials, I could barely hear the frantic voices of the Senates shouting at me, asking me what I was doing. For a moment, I actually considered crashing into them just for fun. However, such impulse had to be unfortunately pushed aside. Grounder plating was much thicker and harder than mine, which meant an impact would probably harm me more than it would harm the senile, stuttering fools.

No matter, I had other plans.

Instead of giving the Senates a taste of my nosecone, I gave them a taste of my afterburners. Mere kliks from plunging straight into their midst, I heaved myself upward, and shot into the sky. I engaged in a spiral, and daringly edged closer to the Autobot headquarters building. The belly of my alt-mode almost touched the cool surface of the building's wall, and I wondered with great amusement what would happen should an unsuspecting grounder stick his nose bridge out a window in same instance I hurtle past it.

I surged past the top of the building, and flipped over with a graceful transformation. In a motion most fluid, all parts snapped into place, and, for a long moment, I simply floated, as though weightless and exempt from gravity. I deactivated my thrusters, and the momentum behind my rapid ascend propelled me forward for quite a distance. My legs swung languidly upward. I spread my wings, and parted my arms. My optics flickered offline, and I waited for the exhilarating sensation of free fall with bated breath, spark strumming with thrill most indescribable.

I lingered for a brief klik, and abruptly started to fall. Cybertron's gravitational pull wrenched me down toward its surface, helm first. Onlining my optics, I watched the small figures of my audience grow bigger and bigger as I dropped altitude at increasing speed. Warnings blared on my HUD, and my wings jerked in preparation as though they knew better than my processors about what I was going to do.

The ground rushed up to my faceplate, and came so close that I could almost feel its impact against my plating. With an impressive show of aerobatics, I twisted in the air, and rolled over until my peds faced downward. Immediately activating my thrusters, the force behind my descent was instantly stopped. I hovered mere wingspans from the ground, basking in the unified sound of awe coming from the crowd, and slowly touched down. Thundercracker landed beside me, just behind my right wing, and the massive hordes of ground pounders behind us erupted into cheers of worship.

The only acknowledgement I gave in response to their applause was a minute flick of my wings. I glanced at Thundercracker with a small smirk, and began to make my way toward the Autobot Senates. They did not look half as amused with my impromptu show as I was, but they remained polite simply because they had to.

"Welcome to Iacon, Prince Starscream," The mech in the middle bowed slightly when I neared his group. "What a pleasant surprise it surely is for you to make a sudden appearance in our city." He did not introduce himself, and I reasoned he probably assumed that I knew him since we had hologram meetings together. He did look slightly familiar, the long, purple panels protruding from his back rather distinctive and cape-like. However, such a detail was hardly significant enough for me to I make an effort to remember him, so I only sent him a look of disinterest.

"I merely wish to check on the progress of locating Firechaser, Senator." I did not know what his designation was, nor did I care. "Every flier is as important to me as another, and I am not pleased that this search is taking so long." I paused to stand in front of him, and narrowed my optics in displeasure.

"Of course, your Highness," The mech bowed a little, and sidestepped to allow me passage into the Autobot headquarters, extending an arm in welcome. "Please, let us discuss this matter inside," He spoke sweetly, a courteous smile on his glossy, purple faceplate, "where there are more comfort and refreshments to be had."

I made a small hum, granting him a brief glance more before walking toward the entrance. Thundercracker followed, and I could hear some of the Senates murmuring to each other, wondering who my blue Seeker was. I decided to not indulge their curiosity, which was a little rude of me, but I did not want to introduce one trine mate without the other. The happening within Vos since my creators' assassination remained a mystery to the Autobots, and I intended to keep it as such. Thundercracker kept his place by my right wing, and remained silent as we went up the stairs.

After false pleasantries and sips of refined energon, the Senates led Thundercracker and I into the largest conference room of the building. They probably thought the floor height windows would ease my grumpiness and increase my leniency to anything they might have wanted to suggest. In truth, the amble view of the night sky did better my mood, but there was only so much improvement on my mood to be had. Being stuck in a chamber with greasy ground pounders was hardly a fun way for a Seeker to pass time, and, to make matters even more unbearable, the insufferable dolts did not mention Firechaser at all throughout our meeting. Every time I tried to direct the topic to what I really wanted to talk about, they would elusively brush me aside. The only subject they cared to discuss was the political status of Vos as a self-contained city state. They did not mean to challenge my authority, oh no. They only wished to be reassured that my fliers were getting by fine without help from the rest of Cybertron.

My hands clenched into fists, and I glared at every single one of them. Did these disgusting grounders think me stupid as they were? They worried about their own afts because Vos was home to some of the most brilliant processors on the planet, and brilliant processors naturally meant very advanced weaponry. Bulky, sly cowards, I could barely bother to deal with them as things were. Did they honestly believe I cared enough about them to perceive them as worthy of extinction? They kept dropping poorly concealed hints pressuring my city to give up its independence, yapping about some scrap regarding benefits of a unified Cybertron. A scowl curled my lips, and I purposely shifted my arms. My null rays glinted under the light, and all discussion abruptly stopped entirely.

To my pleasure, the tedious meeting ended with the Autobot Senates making no progress in their agenda. As I shook hands with them one by one out of formality alone, they finally said something I wanted to hear.

"Regarding Seeker Firechaser, your Highness, I have called in someone responsible to speak with you." The mech who greeted me at the entrance of the Autobot headquarters spoke as he took my hand in his. "Please allow my secretary to guide you to the appropriate conference room." He flashed me another fake, glossy smile, "If there is any concern regarding any subject, please feel free contact me directly, and I will immediately see to it be solved."

"Of course," I nodded curtly, and cycled a silent sigh through my intake system as I tugged my hand out of his grip. My time with the dimwits had finally ended.

"This way, please, Prince Starscream," The secretary bowed, and gestured politely down the hall. I followed his direction, expression somber and impassive while he took Thundercracker and I around the building, ending up at the elevator lift. I was quite certain both my trine mate and I would have much preferred the stairs, since no Seeker could possibly enjoy being confined in a box for transport. However, we did not complain, and merely brushed our wing tips together as we waited anxiously for our floor to arrive. The doors of the elevator finally slid open, and I hastily walked out, Thundercracker tailing me closely. The secretary led us down a few more winding corridors, and we finally arrived at our destination, situated at the end of a deserted looking hallway.

"This is the conference room, your Highness," The insignificant grounder made another bow as he held an arm toward the door. "Due to the secrecy of the situation, I was told to ask your company to wait for you outside."

"Secrecy? Don't be absurd. Every mech on Cybertron with a working broadcast system knows Firechaser is missing." I made a face, and stood my ground: "Thundercracker goes where I go."

"Please, Sire, I was told that sensitive topics will be discussed," The grounder looked down, avoiding my annoyed glare.

I narrowed my optics, and did not plan on giving in.

The secretary hugged his data pad close to his chassis, and squirmed uncomfortably on his peds, unsure of what to do. His nervousness made me feel a little better about the situation, but I was still peeved that the Autobots would try to separate me from my trine mate.

"…Your Majesty, if I may speak," Thundercracker broke the tense silence, placing a hand gently on my arm. I did not refuse him, so he continued on, voice soft and slightly prompting: "This ground-bound mech is only a messenger. He's not responsible for the current issue. If I may boldly suggest, perhaps you might consider contacting the Senator that has volunteered to be of assistance earlier? I'm sure this misunderstanding can be easily resolved."

In other words, Thundercracker pitied the insignificant grounder. I sneered, glancing over my shoulder to send him an irritated look. My blue trine mate only smiled, and gave my arm a small squeeze.

:_Come on, Star, you know it's not worth it._: He gave me a nudge through the trine bond, and I sighed, wings sagging a little on my back.

Thundercracker was right. This little hindrance was not worth the trouble of contacting an Autobot Senate just to hear him make up an excuse as to why it was essential for me to go to the meeting alone.

:_If something happens to me in that room, it'll be your fault._: I gave Thundercracker a small, pointed glare, and returned to addressing the secretary.

"Contacting the Senator is unnecessary," I announced before turning toward the door with a displeased, reluctant sneer, "Let's just get this over with." Upon receiving my word, the secretary hastily scuffled forward, and entered the pass-code. The keypad beeped green, and the door slid open, revealing a darkened chamber. With a mild frown, I leaned forward, and peered tentatively into it. Oddly enough, the room was unlit, but enough light washed in through the wide window to illuminate it with a cold, hazy glow. In front of the wide window was a tall mech. His shadow stretched far, and bled into the darkness blanketing the chamber. I instantly froze when recognition flashed across my processors, and almost visibly startled when I realized just who it was already inside waiting for me.

Sentinel Prime stood in front of the massive pane of enforced glass, hands clasped around his back as he gazed out at the night view of Iacon. His towering, hulking frame, mostly drenched in flaming red and brilliant orange, was cast behind a gloomy curtain of deep, blue undertones. He was still, stance firm and peds precisely shoulder-width apart in a purely military fashion. The way he carried himself was much alike to how he was as a mech – immovable, rigorous, and ironfisted.

"…Prince Starscream?" The secretary hesitantly inquired when I failed to make any indication of entering the chamber. His voice was barely above a whisper, but it was enough to make me jump. Hurriedly gathering my wits, I shook off any lingering nervousness, and berated myself for allowing the Prime to so easily intimidate me. Sentinel was definitely an impressive ground pounder, just by height and suppressive presence alone, but I would not be where I was if I had let every impressive ground pounder make a passive little Seekerling out of me.

At the sound of the secretary's voice, Sentinel Prime made a slight turn, helm inclining toward the door. His blue optics flashed like cold flames in the dark, and his red faceplate remained a flawless mask. He was completely unreadable as every other instance I had seen of him, his polished facade of indifference undoubtedly perfected over vorns of practice. I had to manually restart my intakes, and forced my stiff joints to move. With heavy steps, I walked into the room, and my optics stayed on the Prime's even when the shadows engulfed me, devouring me whole into their depths.

Sentinel turned fully around, and the light from the window framed his body in a manner most sinister. Darkness covered his entire faceplate and chassis, making his features even harder to read. Only his optics were visible. They watched me with unnerving closeness as I entered further into the room, and stood directly in front of him.

"Your Highness," He dipped his helm minutely, and I nodded back.

"Sentinel Prime," I answered, and had to stiffen all joints in my frame to stop my wings from shivering. The door slid closed, a soft sound both quiet and deafening in the silence. I was locked in a dark room with a massive, hard-plated grounder. It took nothing less than sheer determination and will to stop my peds from taking a step back.

"I saw the little performance you did as you arrived," He unwound his arms from behind his back. "It was quite remarkable." His hands hung limp by his sides, and his fingers were slight curved.

"Thank you," I made a curt nod.

The chamber relapsed into silence, and we watched each other, waiting for either to make a move.

Without warning, he suddenly took a step forward, and my wings gave a hard jerk. I winced, inwardly cursing the inborn instinct of wings to be so expressive. His optics fleeted to them for a brief klik, but he made no immediate commentary. He stopped advancing upon me, but his ped remained placed forward, imposing on the distance between us.

"I apologize for my choice of location, your Highness." He spoke almost in a murmur, "I should have made a better effort to accommodate your need for large space."

My wings almost twitched, but I managed to halt their impulse. As expected, he did not look apologetic at all. In fact, he did not look anything, being icily expressionless. I pressed my lips tightly together, and narrowed my optics, giving him no response whatsoever.

"Please, take a seat," He smoothly carried on regardless of my lack of cooperation, and gestured toward one of the chairs neatly placed around the table in the middle of the room. "Make yourself comfortable."

My optics narrowed further, and I made no movement to follow his suggestion. I was not about to put myself in a position where he could loom even higher over me, so I remained rooted to my spot, and he did not move to sit down either.

"Why is the room unlit, Sentinel?" I was becoming very unnerved by how entirely his frame was covered in darkness. "Don't tell me you chose a defective room on top of a small one," I crossed my arms over my chassis, and allowed my voice to form a lazy, teasing drawl. I tilted up my chin, and forced a haughty smirk upon my faceplate. "…Or is everything in grounder cities incompetent and degenerate."

"Please forgive me." He did not dip his helm. "I grew accustomed to the dim lighting system of Kaon. However, if an abundance of light will put you more at ease, I will gladly increase the brightness of the room upon your request."

My fingers curled into my palms, and my smirk grew rigid and pointed.

"I can function perfectly fine in the dark, Sentinel. I do not need to be '_put at ease_'."

"Whatever you wish, Prince Starscream." He bowed a little, and his lips split into a smile.

I immediately decided that I would much rather prefer him emotionless than smiling.

"Speaking of Kaon, is that not where your headquarters are?" I asked liltingly, and began to slowly pace along the length of the room, thrusters making small clicks against the hard floor. The still air was starting to bother me, so I needed to move to create some artificial currents. My wings gave tiny flicks as my flight sensors caught the moving air, and I instantly felt more assured and relieved.

"They are indeed in Kaon." Sentinel answered, and followed my movements with his gaze.

"Don't get me wrong, Prime. I'm very glad to finally meet you faceplate to faceplate." I spoke sweetly, and did not meet his optics, opting to keep him on close watch in my peripheral vision instead. "However, I _am_ rather surprised to meet you here in Iacon." I paused, and sent him only a fleeting glance. "I had assumed the criminals of Kaon kept you busy enough to rarely leave your city…"

The gentle light from the window washed over my plating, creating an effect most fluid. My hips leisurely swayed as I slowly travelled, accompanied by the lazy waving of my pale, fragile wings. From the corners of my optics, I could see him studying me, concentration and intent prominent on his features. I bit back a grin, and hid my hilarity by a coy turn of my helm. Even the great Sentinel Prime was not exempt from the universal perverse interest all ground pounders held toward fliers, it seemed.

"You are quite right," He did not answer till a long moment later. "I rarely leave Kaon behind. However, this is a rare occasion, your Majesty. If my records are correct, you have not left Vos since your return from the space expedition you had participated in with the Space Shuttle Skyfire."

All of my joints tightened to an abrupt stop, and my intakes hitched to silence. I was glad my faceplate was hidden from him, for I did not know what expression I wore. I only knew it was not one I would have wanted a mech like him to see, as it undoubtedly reflected the clenching sensations of searing pain in my spark at the mention of that designation. My wings trembled on my back, and I bit down on my lips. I gave him no reply, and fought to keep silent and still while my impulse battled with my logic for proper retribution to the mech who dared to gouge at an old wound.

"…My records _are_ correct." I heard him move, peds making heavy thuds behind me as he came closer and closer. "After all," His voice suddenly gained a steely edge, "it would be rather unusual for a mech of your caliber to leave your city unannounced to go on little escapades for _fun_." He stopped a few steps away from me, and his vents made an almost imperceptibly low whirr. I could feel his optics on every inch of my frame, his piercing gaze cutting into every panel of my plating. My back-strut tingled unpleasantly, and a shiver crawled up the joints of my wings. I had to consciously make the effort to cycle air through my system, and tried in vain to calm down the erratic thumping of my spark.

"Of course," My answer came out biting and cold, hostility dripping from every word. "…Don't tell me you doubt your subordinates' competence so much that you need _me_ to reassure you, Prime." I hissed, dentae gritted and fists hard.

I could feel his optics caressing every curve of my frame, gliding over places he had no right to so intently study. By now, I had realized he was not looking at me out of lustful desire, but rather to determine whether I was one of the Seekers caught on video surveillance or not. This made me feel even more intimately violated, as though his lack of carnal interest was an offense unimaginable. From the way he continued to inspect me, I could tell he greatly suspected my claims of not leaving my city until this very night cycle. However, this did not explain his avid fascination toward this subject.

Why would it matter to him what I decided to do on my spare time? Sneaking out to an arena match to see a ground pounder that caught my optics hardly broke any Autobot law serious enough to warrant the Prime himself hounding after me. I knew pit fights were illegal, but the worst that could happen if anyone were to find out my attendance at one was great embarrassment on my part. Sentinel did not have the authority to condemn me. The Senates would never allow him such in fear of provoking more antagonism between Vos and the rest of Cybertron. So why? Why was this mech questioning my activities so persistently?

"The blue Seeker that arrived with you," He broke the strenuous silence that hung between us, "He's one of your trine mates, I presume?"

"Affirmative." There was no point lying about Thundercracker's identity, or trying to stall the inevitable question the Prime was going to ask.

"…Where is your other trine mate, Starscream?"

What I had not expected was his utter audacity of addressing me by my designation alone. The resulting eruption of indignant rage made me swirl around on my thrusters, and my lips automatically parted, ready to give the insolent grounder a piece of my processors. However, before I could dish out any angered remarks, my voice was caught in static and cut off.

I turned around, and suddenly found myself staring at Sentinel's fiery blue optics inches from my faceplate. How he had moved so silently, I did not know, but his proximity was extremely alarming. My spark startled in my spark chamber, and I cried out, peds scrambling to back away. His hand abruptly shot out, grabbing me by a wrist, and I instantly started to pull and thrash, struggling against his relentless grip.

"What in the pits do you think you're doing?" I shouted at him, optics fully widened, "Let go of me at once!" I tried to put as much authority into my command as I could, but, even so, it trembled. I bucked with all my might to escape, but he hardly moved at all despite my aggression. "Let go of me!" Fear crept into my voice, and I shrieked, my free fist readying to give his faceplate a punch. However, before I could even aim, he promptly reached forward, and caught my other hand in a crushing hold as well.

"You seem to misunderstand something, Starscream," His scorchingly cold optics glared directly into mine, piercing in intensity. "The only reason those vile, spoiled Senates are wary of you is because they are too busy smelting in their own filth to be much of a threat." His voice was threateningly low, and it held a cutting, gritty undertone that grinded sharply against my audials. "However," He snarled, "if for that reason alone you believe you are safe, you are greatly mistaken." His foreboding words clung to the air like thick, chemical fog, and his facade completely shattered, in its place a malicious scowl that was terrifying in its sheer magnitude of savagery.

"Despite what you might think, they are not stupid." He continued to hiss, and his gaze stung. "You have no idea what they are capable of, fueled by their fear." His overbearing presence grasped me relentlessly by the spark, and held me prisoner. "I don't know what you're planning behind those pretty little optics of yours, but if you become any more dangerous to their authority over Cybertron, they_ will _retaliate!" He came increasingly closer until our nose bridges almost touched, and his energy field pressed invasively against mine. "And when they do," He growled darkly, "keeping your perky little wings on your back will be the least of your problems."

My whole frame was shaking, and I was too shocked and afraid to protest. I could only gape at him, intakes hitched and wings trembling. My spark was seized by fear, and my knees felt weak. I had no idea what he was talking about, but I could not find the words to tell him through the haze of fear that had taken over my spark. He clearly suspected something, something well beyond my knowledge. I did not dare defy him though, frozen rigid as he clenched me with enough force to hurt.

"Remember this well, Seeker: war will not happen as long as I am Prime." He spat out through gritted dentae, and his optics narrowed to slits.

"Mark my words, Crown Prince, if you know what's good for you."

My knee joints finally buckled, and I looked away, no longer able to keep sight of his optics. He held me up by my wrists alone, and I leaned against him, helm lowered and frame shivering. I could only mutely nod and agree to whatever mad conclusions he was going on about, too overwhelmed to disagree. I was a trapped Seeker, and I was not about to test my luck by agitating him further.

We remained in a parody of an embrace until he became annoyed with holding me up. Without another word, he dragged me to the middle of the room, and nudged back one of the chairs before unceremoniously dumping me into it. I collapsed onto its seat, and still shuddered in spasms every once in a while, my wings being most prominent. I kept my helm lowered, and hugged myself with my arms as thousands of questions flew back and forth in my processors at a dizzying speed, but I kept them unspoken.

How much did Sentinel know about my past? How did he find out about Skywarp being my trine mate? Why was he threatening me? And why was he talking about _war_?

There were many things I wanted to ask him, but I was too wary of him to do so, giving him small, scared glances. He walked around the table at an unhurried pace, and sat down in the chair directly across from mine. His mask had returned in an instance, replacing the vicious scowl with a blank expression of cool disinterest. The Seeker pride in me almost reeled at being disregarded as uninteresting, but I quickly quelled it down, curling further into myself. I would much rather blend in with the chair than garner any more of his attention at the moment.

"I'm sure you would like to know the most recent progress in regards to Firechaser," He spoke up, and the room suddenly burst into brightness. "There has not been much updates, I'm afraid, but I will answer any questions you might have, your Highness." His voice was back to being smooth and even, tone firm but flat. He acted as though he had not attacked me at all, and, for several kliks, I could do nothing but stare at him with wide optics.

"Prince Starscream?" He asked, faceplate expressionless.

I shook my helm, and sat up straighter in my chair.

"Um…Y-Yes, I would like to know the updates." I answered, stuttering a little and voice incredibly meek. I was not so foolish as to knowingly provoke whatever madness the Prime had hidden, locked away in his spark. If acting like a spooked sparkling placated him, I was completely willing to play the part.

Fortunately, Sentinel Prime had no more episodes of crazed, misplaced fury. Just as he said, Firechaser's case had not progressed much. He planned to increase the number of search teams within Iacon and its surrounding sub-cities, and asked for my permission to borrow more Fighter Jets, which I naturally gave.

"Fliers are difficult to make disappear in ground-bound cities, your Highness," Sentinel spoke with strict politeness. "I apologize for the lack of results, but I am confident that Firechaser will be found."

"I certainly hope so." I replied, equally as stiffly courteous, "The members of his family unit are extremely worried." Sensing the end of our meeting, I stood up, and made great effort to hike up my wings in a manner most proud. "Thank you for your time and effort, Sentinel." I gave him a small nod. "Vos appreciates all that you have done for Firechaser."

The Prime stood up as well, returning my nod with one of his own. I stared at him for a few more kliks, wondering if he wanted to say anything. He did not, and the atmosphere in the conference chamber quickly grew awkward and uncomfortable. I nodded once more, and started making my way toward the door.

I was very anxious to get out of the room. The air was too hot and suffocating. As I walked away, unwillingly presenting him with my back, I activated my flight sensors to full sensitivity to monitor his movement behind me. I highly doubted he would attack me again, but I preferred to be cautious. He started walking as well, following my lead, and I had to force my pace to remain unrushed. I felt his optics on me again, and my wing twitched, prepared to anticipate any divergence on his part.

When he reached for me this time around, I reacted so swiftly that I had my null rays activated and pointed at his faceplate before he could fully lift his arm. He did not even flinch, and merely looked at my shoulder cannons with a small sliver of curiosity. However, he wisely chose to not move, keeping still as my weapons hummed in warning.

"Do not think you will ever catch me off guard again, ground pounder." I spoke softly, but my words carried much disdain. I glared so hotly that I almost felt I could melt his faceplate with my optics alone, and I hissed, voice heavy with threat. "Were we not confined inside this box of a room, your helm would no longer be attached to your body."

"I only wished to enter the pass-code to open the door for you, Prince Starscream." He tilted his helm slightly in false innocence, and his hand shifted almost unnoticeably in the direction of the keypad on the wall.

"Don't give me that slag," I spat out, and my null rays gave a whirring sound as the charge behind them began to build. "I do not ever miss, Prime, so I'm warning you: do not attempt to touch me again."

Sentinel studied my faceplate for several kliks, motionless on his peds. Such a long moment passed that I became certain he had gotten the message. Pleased with myself for putting the Prime in his place, I was just about to lower my weapons when a wide smirk abruptly appeared on his faceplate.

It began with a small twitch in one of the corners of his lip components. It then spread, infecting the rest of his lips, pulling them horizontally and upward. The metal of his faceplate folded, and the smirk grew wider until it could stretch no more. The leering gesture creased his derma, casting his features in varying layers of shadows. His optics glowed even brighter than before, and his nose bridge suddenly looked hooked and sharp, a threatening protrusion from his scalding red faceplate.

He chuckled, the sound a deep rumble that vibrated against my wings.

"Go ahead, Sire. Shoot," He whispered softly, baring his dentae in an expression most demented as his smirk split into a large grin, "What are you waiting for?" His fingers jerked, and he abruptly outstretched his hands to his sides, massive arms swooping wide and presenting his chassis. My body instantly seized up with tension at the unexpected movement, and I was taken back, stunned as I stared at the Prime. My null rays hummed, fully charged, and I hastily backed away a few steps, watching him closely.

Sentinel did not make any indication that he was about to advance toward me, yet, somehow, I felt him coming closer, leaning forward and pressing invasively against my energy field. His frame seemed to expand, making him appear even taller and larger. My processors hurriedly notified me that this was impossible, but my spark continued to shake, overwhelming my logic circuits with cold, clammy trepidation.

"Shoot," He encouraged me in a hushed, purring voice, blue optics daring me to send the final command for my cannons to discharge. "Shoot," He prompted me, "and I will have the final evidence I need to prove your attendance in Kaon three decas ago."

My wings immediately made a violent jerk. My optics widened. My jaw hinges slackened, and my lips minutely parted.

This crazy glitch was purposely goading me to attack him with my null rays just so he could find a match to the scorch marks I undoubtedly left back at the gladiatorial arena. My intakes shakily gasped, and my processors reeled, trying to sift through the overpowering amount of confusion and disbelief to find a question for my vocalizer to ask.

Why was Sentinel Prime risking a shot from my null rays just to prove I was in Kaon? Why did it matter so much that I went to see a pit fight? This entire encounter did not make any sense at all. What was Sentinel Prime after? What could he possibly gain even if he managed to prove that I was indeed in Kaon and not Vos on that night cycle?

I slowly shook my helm, shocked speechless by his behaviour. My arms lowered, and my null rays deactivated.

"…What's wrong with you…?" I finally asked in a whisper, staring at him with a deep frown and wide optics.

For a moment, he did not react. Several kliks passed by, and he remained still, simply watching me. Eventually, his faceplate lost its expression of madness. It morphed back to its default of blank detachment, and he made a small hum, arms slowly dropping and returning to his sides.

"Either way, Seeker, my warning still stands," He spoke plainly and evenly, optics losing its cutting glint for a light shimmer. "Remember what I had told you, and we will not run into trouble."

I opened my mouth to ask again just what the slag he was going on about, but he cut in before I could.

"I really do not give one scrap about what you do in your city, Starscream," His gaze became pointed for a split of a klik, "as long as it stays within it."

He gave me one last look before reaching for the keypad on the side wall, and tersely tapped the buttons. The door instantly slid open behind me, and my wings reflexively flicked as a new wave of currents entered the room. I was vaguely aware of the secretary shifting on his peds and Thundercracker giving us questioning looks, but I was rooted to the floor, staring at the Prime.

Sentinel made a respectable bow, and gestured at the opened door.

"After you, your Highness." He spoke with perfect politeness, and dutifully kept his bow as he waited patiently for me to move.

After a few kliks, I was finally able to tear my optics away from his, and turned around. Without another word to the mad mech, I walked out of the chamber, and rejoined my trine mate in the safety of the hallway. I leaned close to Thundercracker, touching our wings together. I did not fully realize the extent of my relief until I saw the worried glint in his ruby optics. I stood still for quite some time, simply basking in the comfort my trine mate's presence gave me. Thundercracker lifted one of his hands, and ran his fingers gently along the underside of my wings. Instantly, all tension left my frame, and I sighed, optics briefly offlining.

:_…Star?_: Thundercracker comm.-ed me with obvious concern.

:_I'm alright._: I reassured him, and rebooted my optics, giving him a small smile. I straightened my back, and hiked up my wings, which had sagged minutely. I did not turn around to bid Sentinel farewell, simply making my way to the elevator lift without sparing him a single glance. That crazy slagger did not deserve any respect from me for the way he had treated me.

Thundercracker followed me quickly, and the secretary half stumbled on his peds as he tried to keep up with us. We entered the elevator, and the grounder blabbered while we waited to arrive at the ground floor. I tuned him out completely, his voice a mere annoyance in the background. After the whole ordeal with Sentinel, I sincerely hoped that my original objective in Iacon would be accomplished without trouble.

"—have a tour of the city, since it is such a rarity and honour to have you here with us, your Highness, or perhaps—"

"Good idea, grounder," I interrupted the secretary's nonstop chatter before his awfully cheery tirade could wear down my patience to nil. "Thundercracker and I will take a flight around your city at our own leisure."

The grounder stared at me with his lips hanging open. He seemed to be having trouble processing what I had just said. I scoffed with a curt huff, and turned my optics away from his stupid faceplate when the elevator door slid open.

"B-But," The secretary started to protest, "I was told to—"

"-I do not care what you were told, grounder." I cut him off with a note of finality, and strode out of the elevator. "I am telling you as of now, you are dismissed. Unless you miraculously grow a pair of wings, I highly doubt you will be of much use to me." With Thundercracker in tow, I ignored the vigorous and highly irritating efforts of the secretary to keep us confined, and walked toward the grand entrance of the Autobot headquarters. My wings stretched higher on my back as we neared our exit, and, despite unpleasant previous happenings, I felt a smile tug at my lips.

As soon as the night air caressed my flight sensors, I transformed, and promptly took off. I was barely aware of the grounder's cry of dismay as Thundercracker shot up in the air after me, thrusters making their signature boom. We rose in the altitude by increasing speeds, catching the attention of many Iaconians travelling around the vicinity. However, this time, I ignored their wishful expressions for a spectacle, and simply led Thundercracker away from the Autobot headquarters in a straight line.

The collective noise of Iacon was impressive and robust. However, it too was overcome by the deep, rumbling roar of my blue trine mate's acceleration. One of the many reasons I had asked Thundercracker to be in my trine was this very quality: his thrusters produced the same sound that Space Shuttles were notorious for. His inborn thruster power allowed him greater speeds he otherwise would not have been able to reach, and its thunderous roar was what landed him his designation.

We flew around buildings, engaging in swift but simple aerial maneuvers that regardlessly left many ground pounders looking up in awe. While their admiration was tickling my ego pleasantly, I was not flying for their optics. I led Thundercracker in various quick turns to attract the attention of a very specific mech, one by the designation of Soundwave, and certainly not because I wanted to see this boring city.

In hindsight, the plan was not very well thought-out. I quickly realized that even if Soundwave had seen us, there was no way he could approach us while we remained in the air. Taking Thundercracker around a building, I started scanning for good places to land. There were several spots close-by that met my preference, and I was in the process of picking one when I felt a ping over the general Seeker communications line.

The general Seeker frequency was a platform that all Seekers could freely access to find each other. Though it hardly offered any privacy, being that another Seeker could easily tap into it to join the conversation at anytime, it was very convenient, and it remained a popular method of contact. Without much thought, I opened the request, thinking it to be from someone from Vos. However, instead of a lesser official or someone from my tower, a foreign voice floated across the line.

:_Inquiry – Designation, Starscream; title, Crown Prince of Vos?_:

The strange, monotonous voice surprised me so much that I hit an abrupt stop, and reverted to base-mode right in the air. Thundercracker gave a splutter as he shot past me, not expecting the sudden halt, and swerved around, transforming to hover not far from me.

"Did you hear that?" I spoke in a hushed voice, and stared at Thundercracker, optics wide.

Thundercracker gave me an odd look, and glanced around uncertainly with a confused frown on his faceplate.

"What in the pits are you doing?" I snapped, a scowl forming on my faceplate, "On the Seeker comm.-line!"

Thundercracker's optics dimmed slightly as he accessed the frequency, and he remained silent for several kliks. His frown grew deeper, and his expression gained an increasing amount of surprise.

"That's strange…" He murmured, "My Seeker comm.-line's out."

"What?" I gaped. "Are you sure? Check again."

"I am," Thundercracker answered, and looked as baffled as I was. "The frequency's not responding."

:_General Seeker Communications Line – partially disabled to allow temporary private communication; reason – proposition sensitive._:

:_Who are you?_: I comm.-ed back cautiously, slightly alarmed that a flier comm.-line was so easily hacked into.

:_Designation – Soundwave._:

My optics widened further This mysterious mech was more intriguing and capable than I expected.

:_Suggestion – convene and discuss proposition._: He continued to intone. :_Reason – decrease of suspicion from Seekers in current attempts to access disabled comm.-line._:

I glanced at Thundercracker, who was obviously not the only one trying to figure out why he could not connect to the general comm..

:_Coordinates?_: I quickly asked.

:_Coordinates unrecommendable. Security of communication – non-absolute._:

:_What do you want then?_: I growled, irritated.

:_Recommended course of action – follow Laserbeak._:

Laserbeak? I scowled. Who in the pits was Laserbeak?

:_I don't know who this Laser—_:

:_Laserbeak – arrival on location of Crown Prince Starscream and Seeker Thundercracker in approximately zero-point-eight-five breem._:

I instantly started looking around, checking the sky. Just as Soundwave had clarified, something was flying toward us. I was a little irked that my sensors had completely missed an approaching aerial entity, despite how sophisticated my radar systems were. At first, it was a little difficult to tell what the flying object was. Upon closer inspection, it appeared to be a drone.

:_Is Laserbeak the winged drone?_: I asked just to be sure. Oddly, there was a lengthy pause from Soundwave, and, for a moment, I wondered if our communication was somehow cut off.

:_Soundwave?_:

:_…Affirmative._: Soundwave replied, this time not missing a beat. :_Suggestion – increase in altitude to avoid Autobot Security._:

I frowned, finding the pause strange, but I chose to not dwell on it for long when I noticed Laserbeak coming closer.

:_Fine, I will meet you on location._: I conceded easily, and felt Soundwave deactivate his hacking. Almost immediately after, numerous voices erupted into existence, and filled the line with agitated chatter.

:_h-llo—…-llo, hello?_: Thundercracker buzzed into the frequency.

:_What the frag was that?_: Another voice, rather high-pitched, cried out.

:_Donno,_: A third voice answered, sounding alarmed. :_You don't think the line was hacked just now, do you?_:

:_I sure hope not._: A fourth voice snickered,:_Who knows who could've been listening to Swiftglide's conspiracy theories?_: The laughter that ensued afterward encouraged a fifth voice to pipe up, protesting in indignation:

:_Hey! Shut up! You _know_ there's something strange about Firechaser's disappearance, and just now the comm.-line goes down? Who knows what will happen next? Who knows which one of us the Autobots are going to—_:

:-_Quiet, all of you!_: I immediately cut in before Swiftglide could finish his sentence, and sighed through my vents, sharing a sour look with Thundercracker, who hovered closer toward me. Swiftglide was nothing short of a glitchy pit-spawn, and everyone knew such as fact. However, with Firechaser currently missing, there were already quite a few fliers who had actually started taking his ridiculous ideas seriously. This matter required an address before it spun out of hand. I did not need another Seeker stirring unrest in Vos.

The comm. instantly went silent as all participants realized just who was on the line with them.

:_There's currently a malfunction in the system that I will personally see to get fixed, so don't run off yapping to every audial you can find without censoring your idiotic processors, got it?_: The last part of my statement was specifically aimed at Swiftglide, who grumbled "Yes, your Highness" while all others answered with obedient affirmatives.

:_Good._: I concluded the matter somewhat peevishly. :_Now, don't any of you have anything better to do than gossiping on the comm.-line? You can't possibly all have night shifts off! Go back to your duties._: I issued the command, and waited for them to leave the frequency, but Swiftglide had other ideas.

:_B-But Sire,_: He protested loudly, :_You're in Iacon! You must see how the Autobots are obviously hiding something from us!_:

:_Hey, c'mon, Swifter,_: The voice that poked fun at Swiftglide quickly cut in, hoping to discourage the nervous, young Seeker.:_Prince Starscream has much more important things to worry about than your speculations._:

:_B-But—…I'm worried about Prince Starscream too, Skydrift! He's in Iacon where all the evil Autobots are!_:

I did not know whether to feel amused or offended that Swiftglide did not think I could defend myself against the "evil Autobots".

:_Swiftglide, Prince Starscream will be fine._: Thundercracker replied with a gentle, patient voice that only he could manage when speaking to such a glitchball, :_I would never let anything happen to him, so please do not worry and return to your duties._:

:_But—_:

:_Yeah, 'Glide,_: Skydrift seconded my blue trine mate's words supportively. :_Besides, Skywarp's with Prince Starscream too. He can teleport his entire trine back to Vos if anything bad happens._:

My wing joints grew rigid at the mention of Skywarp. Thundercracker's optics darted around uncomfortably, but did not say anything.

Everyone in Vos had been notified that Skywarp was involved in Firechaser's search to explain his absence by my left wing upon my departure from my city. It was not the best idea, but it was the only adequate explanation we could think of that would quell all suspicion.

:_Yeah…I suppose…_: Fortunately, the mention of Skywarp's ability seemed to have calmed Swiftglide down, and all Seekers quickly vacated the frequency with a respectful farewell. I deactivated my comm. system once the line was empty, and watched as Laserbeak reached us. The drone made a squawk of acknowledgement, and Thundercracker gave it a quick once-over before turning toward me.

"So, what _actually_ happened?" He asked me, a slight frown still lingering on his brow ridges.

"_Soundwave_ happened," I answered, crossing my arms over my cockpit and keeping a keen optic on the winged drone circling us. "He hacked into our system and disabled our general communication line so he could talk to me privately."

"He what?" Thundercracker's optics grew wide.

"You heard me," I sent a sneer toward Laserbeak, who stared coolly back at me. "Remind me to ask the security staff at Vos regarding how the hack happened when we get back, but for now, we will follow this drone to meet with Soundwave."

"Are you sure it's safe?" Thundercracker gave Laserbeak a distrusting glance.

"No," I smirked, and tilted toward the drone just so it could catch my expression. "However, this is good news for us." Knowing Soundwave was very likely listening, I purposely raised my voice, "After all, our main objective at Iacon is about to be fulfilled."

Laserbeak gave another squawk, and flew upward in the sky.

"I suppose it means to lead us?" Thundercracker tilted his helm, tailing the drone with his gaze.

"Of course." I answered promptly, and transformed into jet mode, shooting up in the air after Laserbeak. Thundercracker instantly followed, and quickly resumed his place by my right wing.

Laserbeak took us high in altitude, far from any prying Autobot surveillances cameras. We flew in the direction of the industrial sub-cities dotting the outskirts Iacon, leaving behind the overabundance light and noise. Not many mechs lived here in the sub-cities, and, at this joor, most workers had already gone home, if not making a detour to the closest pit-hole for cheap high-grade. Life was scarce here, and the warehouses were unlit and silent. We eventually reached the southeast region of the outskirts, and landed in front of an abandoned storage house. Laserbeak circled above our helms with a squawk as though announcing our arrival, and glided into the slightly opened door, immersing into the darkness.

"Starscream…Are you sure it's a good idea to go into a dark, enclosed building meant for spare parts in the middle of the night-cycle?" Thundercracker watched the warehouse warily, looking rather tense on his thrusters.

"We already made it this far, so we should at least have a look." Without much acknowledgement of his nervousness, I began making my way to the door. "Activate your null ray cannons just in case," I instructed, "and be prepared to shoot if encountering any hostility."

"Affirmative," Thundercracker replied, and his null rays echoed mine as they immediately hummed online, charging and ready.

I nudged at the slightly ajar door, cautious and alert as it slowly slid open with a grinding shudder. A thin strip of light washed onto the floor, stretching the silhouette of my frame. The warehouse was massive, and its inside was concealed in shadow. Large chunks of dead metal lay stacked up against the walls, untouched for perhaps vorns, still and rusting. Dust hung thickly in the air, creating an almost visible swirling pattern when weak currents disturbed them. This place obviously had not been visited for a very long time, its uses now considered as obsolete. I looked around, trying to determine where Laserbeak had gone. I could not spot its shiny optics nor hear its movements in the air. I did not see Soundwave either, which made me very hesitant to step into the warehouse.

"Soundwave?" I called out, and my voice did not seem to carry far before dissipating altogether in the darkness. "I do not like surprises." I warned, expression pulling into a scowl, "Show yourself before I change my mind about our little meeting."

"Apologies," An eerily harmonious voice, as monotonous as previously heard, reached my audials, and the sound of a transformation swiftly followed it. There was movement at the far, left corner of the large storage space, and, before long, a blue, blocky mech emerged from behind a pile of stacked scrap. He was quite a bit larger than an average ground pounder, though not as heavily built or big as Megatron. He did not appear to have a typical alt-mode for a grounder, lacking the standard features of vehicle-modes that the Autobots seemed to prefer. My assessment of his frame was brief and neutral. However, that immediately changed as my gaze lifted, and my optics found his faceplate.

I felt my wing joints stiffen and my jaw hinges tighten. An involuntary shiver shook through my frame, and I took a jumpy step backward, hands trembling as my fingers curled into my palms. Soundwave was walking slowly forward, peds barely making a sound for his bulk. Approaching us at an unhurried pace, he kept his helm slightly downturned to appear humbled by my presence. However, any attempt he might have made to put me at ease was rendered useless by the shining visor shielding his optics and the facemask hiding his faceplate.

He came closer, and I took another step back, wings jerking. Thundercracker had to sidestep to avoid getting smacked by my right wing, but he remained close to me, offering protection should the need arise. A tremour crawled through my arms, and my null rays gave a threatening whine. "Stay where you are, Soundwave." I snapped out, voice high and tightly strung, "Not a single step closer."

Soundwave obeyed instantly, even going as far as to give me a respectable bow. Normally, this would have pleased me, but strangely, it did not. His actions highly agitated me, but I could not fathom why. Under usual circumstances, I would have muchly appreciated a grounder knowing his proper place. However, this dark blue mech, the way he behaved as though he knew exactly how to appease me, made me extremely nervous. His entire energy field felt invasive, and his gleaming visor was too bright as he watched me with hidden interest. I had barely met this mech for more than several kliks at best, and, already, he frightened me.

My wings began to shiver, and I gritted my dentae, plastering on a glare in hopes to stifle the fear radiating from my spark. I did not understand how this ground pounder could have managed to intimidate me so much. No one had ever instilled such frigid terror in me in such a short amount of time before. Not even Megatron, with his formidable brute strength and sheer oppressive ferity, had terrified me as much as this silent, motionless, and passive blue mech.

I could not stop staring into the visor, which floated in the shadows. I knew Soundwave was as still as a statue, and I knew he was not so stupid as to underestimate me just because I was a small, grounded flier. His posture indicated only harmless intentions, and he obviously did not want to leave our negotiation with any scorch marks on his frame. However, the more I stared into his visor, the more I felt as though he was touching my very spark with grappling fingers, and I was powerless to stop it.

My hands twitched, and I hastily swung up my arms, pointing the barrels of my null rays straight at Soundwave's helm. Thundercracker sent a questioning ping through our trine bond, but I heard him move, following my lead in aiming at the blue grounder. Soundwave did not seem to realize the danger he was in. He simply kept still, and watched me impassively.

I bit my lips as they began to quiver. My knee joints felt weak. The rising sensation of distress squeezed painfully around my spark, and it fueled the increasing spread of panic that threatened to overturn my logic. A familiar abyss, the one that had taken me after my creators' assassination, was starting to surface, expanding with rippling growth. I had not so intimately felt it for vorns, and its effects were so strong and sudden that I had to forcefully stop myself from collapsing to the ground. I did not understand why it was returning now of all times. I had already gotten rid of it. Not completely, but enough that it no longer had control over my life. Skyfire had helped me heal. He took care of me. He was the only one I had allowed to take care of me. He was big, and strong. He was gentle, and patient.

…He always smiled at me. He always held me. He always gazed at me so tenderly, and he always kissed me, and he always—always—

—He told me he loved me.

Skyfire loved me.

He loved me.

He _loved_ me.

And what else could I do but believe him?

He loved me so much, and I believed him.

I believed him because he told me so. I trusted him. He would never lie to me, not when that would hurt me, and he promised he would never hurt me. He would never hurt me, and he would always—always—

—a-and he would always protect me…and keep me safe, and—a—an-d—

—b-but—

-but—now h-he was—he was dead. He was dead because I had to—because I had to—to argue—

-I had to argue with him because I have always been so stupidly stubborn and now he was dead a-and it was all—all my—

-I—

I killed him.

I _killed_ him.

If I hadn't argued with him, he wouldn't have gone to that planet by himself, and if I hadn't argued with him and he hadn't gone to that planet himself I would have been there to save him when he got caught in that accident. I would have been there to save him when he got caught in that accident instead of listening to him tell me he loved me as he crashed and—Oh Primus!—I heard him—I heard him—I—

-I heard him in the storm—I heard him lose control—I heard him crash—I heard him _die_—Oh Primus no! Please no! Come back! Come back!—I—I'm so sorry—I'm so sorry! Please come back, Skyfire! Please come back! Don't leave me! Don't leave me!

_Don't leave me—_

I gasped.

My intakes took in a loud, hitching gulp of air, and my processors reeled, suddenly snapping back into control.

…What…just happened…?

I shook my helm, confused and disoriented.

"…Starscream?" Thundercracker's slightly alarmed and worried voice reached my audials, but, for many kliks, I could not figure out where exactly he was until I realized with a start that he was right beside me.

I looked around dazedly, slowly catching up with my surroundings. I was still at the warehouse. My null rays were still activated. My arms were still raised, and I followed the direction my compact cannons were pointed to.

Soundwave…was still standing several steps away from me, somewhat slouched in a nonthreatening manner.

I frowned.

There was something different about him. I could not quite place it, especially since my processors were still recovering from…whatever it was that just happened, all the while simultaneously trying to run a detailed internal diagnostic. I peered into his visor with greater scrutiny, and found, with surprise, that it no longer terrified me. The shiny glass was unsettling to look at, but my spark no longer throbbed with fear. I could not determine whether I had imagined my previous inspection of not, but…the visor seemed to have dulled a little.

Had I just imagined the whole encounter?

I shook my helm to clear my thoughts as my processors finished running the diagnostic. Nothing was wrong. Everything was online and fully functional. My systems were a little overheated, but my intakes and vents were already remedying that minute problem. I slowly lowered my arms, and straightened my back. I was still confused, but there were more pressing matters at hand.

"Soundwave, I presume?" I addressed the blue grounder, ignoring the concerned looks Thundercracker was giving me.

"Affirmative." Soundwave answered, voice retaining its strange melodic quality.

"What was it that you wanted to talk about?" I asked without delay, knowing Thundercracker and I did not have much time before the Autobot Senates decide to send Sentinel and his mechs out to look for us.

"Suggestion: Converse within warehouse. Reason: More efficient protection from Autobot surveillance." Soundwave intoned, though, despite his words, he looked awfully patient for a mech worried about being spied on.

"Well, if that drone of yours could fly any faster, there wouldn't _be_ the possibility Autobot tracking, as practically nonexistent as it is." I crossed my arms, and narrowed my optics.

Soundwave's visor flashed at the mention of his drone. "Laserbeak: Undetectable by Autobot security system."

"You should've thought about how undetectable a pair of Seekers is while we waited for that slow drone of yours." I spared him a glare, but began making my way toward the entrance to the warehouse, having backed out of it. Soundwave did not respond to my clipped words, and merely dipped his helm slightly before turning around, walking further into the building. Shaking off the last shred of lingering confusion and anxiety, I stepped through the door, and followed Soundwave until he stopped in the middle of the large storage space. Thundercracker was right behind me, and his peds did not make a sound as he dutifully flanked my right wing.

"Now that we're inside," I scanned the area just in case there were mechs hiding in the shadows, "Tell me what you want, ground pounder, before I tire of you." I knew what he wanted, but I was not going to acknowledge it until he asked me properly.

"Purpose of contact: Acquire permission from Crown Prince Starscream of Vos regarding request for flight-capable combatants." Soundwave cut straight to the chase, and I instantly knew he was aware that this matter had been brought up to me. His voice barely fluctuated, and I smirked.

"You do not beg very well, Soundwave. You'll have to do a lot better than that if you wish to receive my permission," I lifted my helm, and peered down at him over my nose bridge. "And before I become completely bored with you, tell me who sent you and why."

Soundwave paused, helm lowering as though to ponder how he was going to proceed with his begging. After a few kliks of contemplating, he tilted his helm up, and spoke in the same uninteresting, flat voice:

"Need for flight-capable combatants: Dire for current objective."

If this was the best he could do to plead for his case, I was very unimpressed.

"Current objective: Congregation of forces pertaining to one similar goal."

His droning voice was starting to grate on my audials, and his way of speech was highly irritating. I had every intention of turning on my thruster heels and walking away. However, before I could, his next statement caught my undivided attention.

"Goal: Eradicate Autobot authority of Cybertron."

I grew still, and stared at him, wondering if a mech like Soundwave could joke. Thundercracker shifted minutely beside me, and asked in a disbelieving voice:

"Wh—What did you…just say?"

The only reason I did not berate my trine mate for speaking in my place was that I was too busy being surprised.

"Goal: Eradicate Autobot authority of Cybertron." Soundwave repeated dutifully, and I quickly decided that he was not one to joke, which made the situation even more ridiculous.

"Before you make a bold claim as to assume Vos would have such goal in mind, tell me, Soundwave," I took a few steps toward the grounder, peds light and wings perking: "Who exactly did you place so much faith into to lead you in such an ambitious adventure, hmm?"

Soundwave had to tilt his helm further downward to keep my amused gaze as I approached him. His visor glinted briefly, and he answered:

"Megatron."

My optics widened, and I was once again rendered to silent staring, gaping blatantly into Soundwave's visor and wondering how he could say such a thing without any indication that he was about to fry a circuit. A strangled noise erupted from my vocalizer, and I immediately swirled around, laughing with such extreme hilarity that I felt as though I was about to blow a fuel line.

I glanced at Soundwave, and each time his stoic faceplate came into view, I laughed with greater vigor. I could not stop, making a spectacle of myself, and giggled until the side panels of my midsection began to hurt.

"Megatron?" My voice was a whole octave higher in pitch than usual, and I struggled to not burst into another string of laughter. "_Megatron_?" I repeated, still in disbelief that Soundwave had uttered that designation.

"Affirmative," Soundwave answered monotonously.

Turning slightly away, I rubbed my faceplate, and periodically snickered, shoulders shaking. I could not believe this was true. Megatron really was asking for fliers, but never in a million vorns would I ever have imagined _this_ to be the reason he wanted them for.

Megatron wanted to eradicate Autobot authority of Cybertron? The same Megatron who was a gladiator that fought in the pits to make a living? The same Megatron who had peeling red paint on his faceplate and was once an insignificant worker at an energon mine?

I was simply too amused by the news to wonder why Soundwave had not found it strange that I knew who Megatron was without him making any introductions.

"Tell Megatron the Crown Prince of Vos thinks he needs to get his processors thoroughly examined by a certified medic, and while you're at it, you really should get yours looked at too, Soundwave." I grinned at the blue mech, and pointed at him in the faceplate, "In fact, why don't you grab every single one of your unfortunate mechs stupid enough to follow such a glitched cause? To think you'd actually believe a pit-fighter can overthrow the ruling government that's been in power since the beginning of the Golden Age…pitiful at best!" I scoffed, and instantly dismissed such absurdity.

And what absurdity it was – a rowdy bunch of bottom feeders wanting to crawl to the top? I shook my helm, and huffed in lingering laughter, already turning to walk away. Even I, Starscream, the monarch of an entire city-state had not even once entertained such a preposterous idea. Leave it to the mad to think of something so stupid and hilarious.

"Eradication of Autobot authority: Inevitable." Soundwave called after me as I pattered away.

"Keep thinking that," I waved one of my hands, not even bothering to pause in my steps, and Thundercracker swiftly followed me. I had thought Soundwave conceded to my wish. I had expected him to simply give up. I had clearly underestimated his tenaciousness, which dared to attempt insolence in face of fatal consequences.

"…Starscream: Coward."

I stopped so abruptly that Thundercracker almost bumped into my right wing.

The silence that followed was immediately coated with tension so thick that I could almost feel its pressure against my flight sensors. Anger mounted in my spark, and my wings began to tremble in eager response. My null rays hummed in anticipation. They were immediately activated, and set to kill. I turned around slowly, and my optics narrowed, the vehemence behind them fiery as the scalding rage racing through my fuel lines.

"…_What_ did you just say, ground pounder?" I asked softly. I did not need to facilitate volume. The menace in my voice was enough to carry my words to the blue mech without any trouble.

For a moment or two, Soundwave remained still. When my glare increased in intensity, he passively averted his gaze, and dipped down his helm.

"Apologies," He uttered, and explained unhurriedly despite his pending deactivation, "Course of action: Necessary in prevention of Crown Prince Starscream's departure."

He sure as the pit did not sound apologetic, and I grew even angrier when I realized that he did, in fact, stop me from leaving, even though it was just long enough for me to shoot him in the helm.

"You'll apologize when you taste my null ray!" I swirled fully around on my peds, and swung up my arms, aiming for his chassis. Soundwave instantly took a defensive stance. However, even with the barrels of my compact cannons pointing at his spark, he made sure to reply:

"Requesting visit to city of Kaon."

His voice remained perfectly emotionless as he spoke, but it was not his impassiveness in the face of death that offset me enough to not shoot.

"Kaon?" I grimaced in disgust, "Why in the pits would I want to go to _Kaon_?"

"To speak with Megatron." Soundwave easily answered.

"And why, pray tell, would I want to speak with _him_?" I replied snidely, lips pulled into a sneer. However, even with sarcasm lacing my words, I could not deny the lurch in my spark at the thought of meeting my champion gladiator again. I did want to see him, to present myself to him in my entire, unhindered glory. The last time we had met was barely satisfactory, since my beautiful paintjob was hidden under ghastly shades of black and gray. My Seeker pride squirmed uncomfortably in my spark, alongside it abundant curiosity toward how Megatron planned to achieve his ridiculous goal of overthrowing the Autobot government.

Soundwave did not respond to my question. There was no reason for me to want to speak to Megatron that he knew of, so he wisely kept his boring voice to himself, and waited for me with seemingly boundless patience.

"…Even if I were to agree to go to Kaon with you, there's no method of transportation fast enough to take us to Kaon and back before the Autobots start to become suspicious about my disappearance." I mused aloud, and did not move my null rays away from Soundwave's chassis. If his next words were not satisfactory, I had full intention to shoot him and leave.

"Transportation: Possible," Soundwave straightened up, and his visor flashed for a brief klik. He paused for a moment as though for dramatic effect, and continued on to explain: "Method of Transportation: Teleportation."

"What are you—" My sentence had not yet finished before a familiar popping sound came from above us. With a start, I immediately tilted my helm back, and my optics widened when they spotted purple smoke. Skywarp abruptly appeared in to view, hovering above us as though he had been there the entire time, and slowly descended.

"S-Skywarp?" Thundercracker called out from behind me, voice surprised and annoyingly excited. Skywarp hopped down to land beside Soundwave, and gave Thundercracker a wide, lopsided grin.

"Hey, TC, haven't seen you in a while." He beamed affectionately at Thundercracker, and pointedly ignored my existence. I lowered my arms, and was half a klik from yelling at him for being so rude when I noticed something peculiar on his wings. There were twin purple sigils painted on them, right where all fliers involved in the military would wear the Royal Seal of Vos. I pointed directly at one of them, and asked in a tone most terse and irate:

"What in the pits are those dumb-looking scribbles on your wings?"

Skywarp glanced at me. For a moment, he almost looked a little hesitant, but his expression quickly changed to that of defiance instead.

"Since you so graciously kicked me out of Vos, Starscream, I went to where my spark belonged, and joined the Decepticons." He stuck out his cockpit as he answered, and his expression turned hard.

I was a little alarmed at how Skywarp called me directly by my designation, and not the more horrendous of my nicknames. He always preferred to creatively utilize those when he was upset at me before, and I could not determine why he had changed his mind.

"Don't be so melodramatic," I retorted, feeling a little defensive. "I never kicked you out!"

"You did when you ordered my deactivation!" Skywarp glared hotly at me, dentae gritting into a snarl.

"I did no such thing!" My voice rose higher in volume, and he replied in equal dynamic.

"No, you ordered me to the brig, which is even worse! And you meant it too!"

I winced, wings flicking agitatedly as I turned away for a brief klik to huff.

"Fine, believe what your glitched processors want to believe," I spat out, optics narrowing. "Now, what's this scrap about joining the 'Decepticons'?"

"The Decepticons is a faction I have sworn my loyalty to, Starscream, one that's a lot more beneficial to me than whatever slag I had to put up with being loyal to _you_!" To my great disgust, the slagger dared to proudly hold his wings high on his back, and propped his fists up by his hips.

I scowled, fury once again threatening to overtake my logic circuits.

"Your _wings_, Skywarp, belong to _me_, both as your sovereign and as your trine leader." I spoke in a threatening, low hiss, "If you have truly betrayed me, I have every right to rid you of them."

I was completely serious when I made my threat, and it was that seriousness that made Thundercracker shuffle on his peds, looking between Skywarp and I with amble amount of nervousness.

"Funny thing for you to say," The purple idiot bit out, voice dark and quiet, "You're the one who betrayed our trine to begin with when you brought your guards into _our_ business."

"_You_ betrayed all flier-kind when you sold Seeker wings to Kaon's whores, Skywarp! How _dare_ you accuse me of betrayal!" I shouted, and pointed accusatively at my purple trine mate. Skywarp's wings fanned out wider in rising anger, and his lips parted in preparation to yell back in equal fervor. However, before he could do so, Thundercracker rushed forward, and came between us, faceplate in a helpless frown.

"Stop it, you two! Now's not the time!" He whispered harshly, and glanced at Soundwave. Only then was I was suddenly reminded that we had an audience.

Pursing my lips, I crossed my arms over my canopy, and sent Skywarp one last heated glare. Reluctantly, I put down my trine's argument, and turned my attention back to Soundwave.

"You trust our transport to an idiot?" I drawled spitefully, and Skywarp growled from somewhere outside my sight. Thundercracker immediately started to murmur to him in a soothing, gentle voice, the cooing gesture making my wings jerk unevenly in repulsion. The way those two acted around each other was starting to truly sicken me.

"Skywarp: Only available method of instant transportation." Soundwave answered, and I could have sworn he was amused by the little show we unknowingly put up for him. Unfortunately, his voice remained flat and uninteresting, so I could only give him a warning look and nothing else.

Turning back to Skywarp and Thundercracker, I crossed my arms over my chassis, and sent them a sneer. "If the two of you are done playing bond-mate with each other, some of us have pressing matters to tend to." I scorned the way they huddled together, expression full of spite.

The way Skywarp scowled back was expected, but I did not anticipate the stiffening in Thundercracker's wings. My blue trine mate's hands clenched into tight fists, and his lips pressed into a thin line. I frowned, wondering what his problem was. Thundercracker was not a violent Seeker. He always preferred to find diplomatic solutions rather than ones involving punches being exchanged. Seeing him make implicative gestures of violence was not only bizarre, but also a little unsettling, even more so when he offered no explanation for his break of character. He remained silent, and merely nodded, looking back at me with a painfully blank expression.

I was somewhat uncomfortable with his cold staring. It made him appear distant and aloof, as though he did not want anything to do with me.

"Suggestion: Immediate departure for city of Kaon." Soundwave's voice broke my optic-contact with Thundercracker. The blue grounder moved closer toward us, and gave me a small nod before turning to instruct Skywarp: "Location of Teleportation: Underground base, code K2-68."

"Got it," Skywarp answered promptly, and wrapped an arm around Thundercracker. He offered his other hand to Soundwave, who silently took it, and left me with no appendage to latch on to. Turning toward me, the purple slagger sent me a gaze most haughty, and smirked. "You can hang on tight, can't you, Starscream?" He goaded me in a snide voice, "Wouldn't want you to fall off mid-teleport, after all. Who knows where you might end up?"

I barely spared his faceplate a glance as I strode toward him, reaching for his shoulder vents. His childish behaviour was not worth my attention, and I had no interest whatsoever of sinking to his level. Unfortunately, he was more suicidal than I thought, for he gave me a slag-eating grin, and spoke with delightful malice:

"Though you might end up somewhere you'd love to be…like Megatron's berth perhaps?"

My hands halted mid-reach, and my optics flew up to his faceplate. Shock from the fact that he actually spoke of this matter with Soundwave present only lasted for a split of a moment before rage swelled from my spark. I was so furious that my whole body trembled, but I did not shoot the fragger like he deserved. I took one more step closer instead, making our cockpits touch, and pressed invasively into his energy field. Reaching behind him, I grabbed tightly around the top edges of his wings, and presented him with a smile full of false sweetness. He looked down at me with dismay, and visibly flinched when I squeezed my fingers into his wing plating.

"I sincerely hope nothing of the sort happens, my dear 'Warp," I purred, leaning closer against him, and silently reveled in glee when his faceplate scrunched together in distaste. "After all, I will make extra sure my grip on your wings is extreme tight just so when I do fall off mid-teleport, I get to take them with me too."

Skywarp stared at me for a moment longer before jerking his chin up until his optics gazed straight ahead. He did not reply, lips pressed tightly together, and activated his warping system.

The world around us instantly darkened and faded away. I felt a forceful yank on my spark, and all of us were thrown into the oblivion that only teleporters could navigate. Time and space morphed, and warnings blared in my processors. My whole being seemed to disintegrate into nothing until, barely a klik after, new surroundings came crashing around us. With a "pop", we landed on new ground. The air was much hotter, and was heavy with pollution. I would have figured out from the amount of corrosive chemicals alone that we were now in the slums of Kaon.

As soon as we reached our destination, I pulled away from Skywarp. He looked almost as relieved as I was when we separated, and I gave my cockpit glass a few rubs to wipe away unseen dirt just to annoy him. Thundercracker was looking around, having never been to Kaon before. He glanced at the cracks and questionable stains on the walls, brow ridges furrowing into a frown.

We were standing on a platform below the streets of Kaon, in front of us a protruding structure with a door in the middle. The pipes overhead made loud hissing noises. All of us except Soundwave jumped as a pressurized blast of steam came blowing down. It was hot, and condensation formed on my wings. The moisture tickled my flight sensors, which was extremely uncomfortable. I skidded away from under the pipes, and flicked my wings in rapid succession.

Before I could properly dry my wings, Soundwave walked to the door. He leaned close, and knocked against it in a series of beats. As he backed away, I noticed the same sigil painted on Skywarp's wings plastered on his chassis, right over where his spark chamber was.

The door slid open, and Soundwave turned toward me.

"Please follow." He simply stated, and made his way through the entrance.

As if I needed him to tell me. I made a small scoffing sound, and walked through the door after him.

Right past the door was a straight passage way. It was long, leading deep into the main compound of the base. We crossed many intersecting halls, sometimes stumbling upon sight of other mechs, who stared at us curiously from afar. They were all ground pounders, not one of them free from stains or scratches on their frames. None of them spoke, but all of them appraised my frame with perverse interest. Normally, this would not bother me much beyond initial disgust. However, we were heading further into the base, away from the sky, which made me increasingly more agitated and nervous. The corridor Soundwave was leading us through was too narrow for a Seeker's comfort, and it had begun to tilt downward, signaling a gradual descent. No flier liked being confined even above ground, let alone under it. My wings made small jerks on my back, and I could feel the grounders' optics lingering on them hungrily.

I was suddenly plagued by the question of why I was here in the first place. While I did want to see Megatron again, I was not prepared to go underground to do so. I could not remember when I had made the conscious decision to follow through with Soundwave's suggestion. The only explanation I could think of was that Skywarp's appearance distracted me, which meant this whole mess was Skywarp's fault, as usual with any mess I found myself in.

Unfortunately, backing out was no longer an option. I bit my lips as we went further onward, the light diminishing to a dull flicker. We turned around several corners, and eventually reached an even smaller hallway. The ceiling was high enough to accommodate a Space Shuttle, but it was still too low for a flier. I had to stop myself many times from wondering about how far down from the surface we were. The weight that now lay above my helm, between my wings and the sky, was overwhelming to think about. My spark was beginning to show signs of buckling under the sensations of suffocation my processors were trying to valiantly keep at bay. I was ready for any distraction to take my attention away from the glaring fact that I was being holed up underground.

To my slight relief, Soundwave led us around what appeared to be the last corner, and took us down a hall that had a door at its end. Beside the door was a mostly yellow grounder, obviously a guard, who was sitting on a chair with a screen attached to its armrest. There were more screens behind him, each showing different footages from all around the base. Hearing us approach, he turned, and his optics stalled on my wings and my hips. He licked his lips with his glossa in a most lecherous manner, but I was too busy ignoring the discomfort of being far removed from the sky to react to his unashamed staring.

The yellow grounder turned his optics to Soundwave once we stopped to stand in front of him. Jerking his chin, he pointed at the door with a thumb.

"Word to the wise – the big guy's in a bad mood," He spoke in a lazy slur, and I wondered for a moment if he was intoxicated. "Had a run-in t'night. Lost an arm."

"Dismemberment…Is he—…functional?" Soundwave's voice lost none of its boring intonation, though the change from his previous speech pattern was minutely refreshing.

"Yeah, yeah, he's good." The guard paused slightly, and snickered before continuing on, "Good as you can be with one arm, I guess. Slag, was he _mad_."

Soundwave nodded before passing through. I followed closely, pointedly pretending to not notice the yellow grounder leering at me as he openly ogled at my aft. Before we reached the door, he called out after us:

"Anyway, while you're in there," He snickered some more, "You should see the _other_ guy."

His boisterous laughter echoed loudly in the narrow hall, and I felt my wings twitch. Fortunately, Soundwave had already entered the code to the door, and it slid open with a faint, whooshing noise. Following the blue mech into the room, I took a scan with my optics, and saw carnage.

We were in a medical bay. It was large, and in a vaguely circular shape. The light was too bright, uncomfortably piercing in the manner that lighting systems of all med bays were. Sounds of tools tinkering and saws slicing into dense metal filled the room. Several medics, most of whom were in the same shade of green, walked about in silence. Their hands were slick with half-glowing energon, which they attempted to wipe away with soggy rags.

There were bodies on numerous semi-upright medical berths. They all belonged to very large ground pounders, though none of them had the complete number of limbs. Some of them barely had a frame at all, everything from chassis down missing. Torn cables and broken circuits were being forcefully pulled out. Energon dribbled from the berths, creating glowing streams on the floor that flowed steadily into the webbed drain.

The medics worked at an efficient pace, carefully severing reusable parts from the dead frames. They took out optics, cut out coolant tanks, and sawed off arms and legs with accuracy. The smoldering scent of dead energon was strong in the room, and I was suddenly reminded of the little grounder I had seen on my first trip to Kaon, the one who was vomiting into a pit hole. I felt my tank churn with nausea at the thought, and visibly shivered. I did not need this on top of my already rising anxiety.

Soundwave stood in front of me, partially blocking my view. Despite my limited sight, I knew exactly who it was situated at the center of the room, currently being repaired. I could hear his cooling fans whirring quietly, barely above a murmur as the medics worked on the damages on his frame. I could feel his energy signature, potent and overwhelming, filling the room with his presence. Anticipation filled my core, and once again, I felt as though I was sitting in the balcony at the arena, waiting for his match to begin. Memory files resurfaced, and I suddenly remembered with frightening clarity the ease with which he overpowered me as he held me against the wall. I remembered the way his hard plating felt against my softer metal, and how yearningly my spark burned as my desire for him soared. I remembered the sensation of lubricant wetting my valve cover as he shifted against me, and how heated the air had become as he pressed our bodies tightly together.

I bit my lips, and forced my intakes to cycle air into my heating system.

Our position in this encounter differed greatly from our last, I reminded myself. I could not afford to lose my place this time around. I was a flier, the best, and I had a city to rule. I could not allow my selfish interest toward this ground pounder to jeopardize the untainted name of my city, as I was its representative in every manner.

Soundwave made a rather jerky movement as his helm inclined toward me. I frowned, not knowing what he wanted. He did not speak. After a quick moment, he corrected his helm to face forward, and made his way toward the center of the med bay. Upon his approach, there came the sound of a mech of great bulk shifting on a berth, and a deep rumble of a voice spoke after a humourless hum:

"…What do you want?"

A tremour abruptly shook through my frame, ending with tingling sensations at the tips of my wings, which hiked up higher on my back. My intakes spluttered, and my spark swelled. My internal temperature suddenly rose so swiftly that I was momentarily disoriented, and my coolant system immediately kicked in. The sight of a massacre, the scent of drying energon, the sound of his rough voice, and the hypersensitivity in my wings combined into one overwhelming haze that clouded my processors. It engulfed me completely, and enveloped my core with heat.

I shook my helm clear, and concentrated on the feeling of coolant calming down my system.

"Your request: more flight-capable combatants for Decepticon cause?" Soundwave spoke evenly.

"Hmm," The coarse, dark voice replied, "You have one?"

"Negative," Soundwave turned, and promptly sidestepped, unblocking my view. He gestured toward me, and my spark jumped in my spark chamber when my optics finally met the sight of my ground pounder.

"Presenting Starscream," Soundwave intoned, "Seeker, Crown Prince, and absolute monarch of flier city of Vos."

Megatron was in an upright position, propped up against a tilted medical berth. His frame suffered even more scratches and cuts than the last time I had seen him, and thick cables were plugged into numerous medical ports on his frame to monitor his health status. There were still many wide, gaping gashes all over his chassis and his limbs. One of his arms had a distinctly different paintjob than the rest of his dull, silver body, and I realized with a start that it had just been very recently attached.

My optics moved upward, taking in the sight of his faceplate. My spark clenched tightly when I noticed lacerations across his cheeks, one of them touching his left optic. Even his lips were not spared, their smoothness marred by a very visible cut slicing across them.

When I finally could not stand to look at his wounds any longer, I lifted my gaze, and met his optics. I watched him study me, and wondered what he saw. I was trying to appear as proud and magnificent as I have always been, but all I could feel was shakiness on my peds. I had planned to show him my full glory, to show him what royalty truly was, but I did not feel even remotely glorified at that moment. I wanted him to recognize just how beautiful and flawless I was, my wings displayed with pride for all to see. However, my wing joints were stiff and tense, while my spark quivered from an unexpected emotion.

I was…worried.

I felt like I needed to reboot my processors.

I was worried, looking at the amount of damage Megatron had received from his fight.

Was he ambushed? Was he alone when it happened? Why was he attacked?

I knew I wore a smirk on my faceplate. I knew I was as impeccably perfect as I have always been, standing in the med bay for his optics to devour. My flashy paintjob and shiny polish were probably enough to distract his attention away from my somewhat unsteady stance, so I chose to hide behind my appearance, cycling air through my system and trying to calm down.

I should not be worried about this ground pounder. I had much more important matters to worry about, such as refusing this ground pounder his silly request for help on his hopeless campaign against the Autobot government.

Aside from deactivation, what else could he possibly gain from grasping for an unattainable goal?

"_Starscream…_" He spoke almost thoughtfully, as though he was testing how my designation tasted on his glossa. He paused for a short while, examining me with great attentiveness, before his optics abruptly flashed brighter. "We have met before." He stated.

My joints seized rigid in an instance. My wings jerked on my back. Right away, I knew: he recognized me from that night cycle outside the arena compounds.

"Wh—N-No—…" I bit down on my jaw hinges, and silently cursed my stuttering vocalizer. Making a small, coughing sound, I continued in a much more confident voice, standing taller on my thrusters, "No, we have not." I met his gaze dead on, ignoring the flustered skips of my spark. "Don't be ridiculous. I have not left my city for vorns."

Megatron's optics narrowed for the slightest. He made a low hum, but did not negate my claims.

Taking that as a cue I should continue, I walked forward, and began to state my stand. Words spilled seamlessly through my lips, and I was once again reminded just how long I had been giving similar speeches to ground pounders who did not know their place in regards to Vos.

"I am here for one purpose, and one purpose only, Megatron. I will not tolerate your persistent pestering of my fliers any longer." My voice was firm, as were my steps as I strode to stand right in front of him, boldly coming within the reach of his arms. "You obviously have never been in high society, so I will assume you are simply ignorant instead of meaning to offend me as the ruler of my kind." Feeling much surer of myself, I narrowed my optics, and set my voice to a hard, unforgiving tone. "No mech, regardless of societal standing, is exempt from the rule that in order to recruit the service of my fliers, he must speak directly to me and attain my permission first. You have sent your subordinate after my fliers without consent with me, which is not only rude, but ultimately gives me the allowance to respond with hostility should I desire it."

Megatron looked at me from his seat on the berth. His expression did not say much, but he seemed to be a little amused, as though watching my antics was merely a show. This irritated me, and I scowled down at him, hands curling into fists by my sides and wings fanning wide.

"Do not make the mistake of underestimating my capabilities, ground pounder. Vos can easily erase this pitiful city from existence, and I highly doubt the Autobots would even mind."

"I never underestimated the military strength of your city, Starscream." The fact that he was addressing me without any title annoyed me, and my wings began to twitch. "Your capabilities are the very reason I consider your allegiance valuable."

My optics narrowed further.

He spoke of allegiance, not alliance, and there was a very big difference between the two. He wanted me as his subordinate, not as an equal, and the mere notion of what his wording suggested made me want to give him a shot in the faceplate.

"My only _allegiance_ is to the welfare of my people, ground pounder," I sneered at him, taking another step forward. I wanted to show him I was not intimidated by his size, or his strength. The fronts of my knees touched the edge of the berth he was sitting on, and I stood right between his parted thighs.

"I refuse your request." My voice was quiet, but I was pleased by the amount of assertion it carried.

"Don't be so hasty, Starscream." His optics glinted sharply, and the little amusement he had on his faceplate disappeared. He did not move at all, but his demeanor changed, suddenly giving off an air of threat. All joints in his body tightened with tension, ready to act. He was looking at me, regarding me in the same way he would an opponent in the arena, and I was both nervous and thrilled by the prospect of danger.

"Perhaps you should heed your own advice, _mighty Megatron_," My voice gave a playful, teasing lilt, and I dared to reach forward, lifting a finger to lightly trace one of the scratches on his chassis. "Do you honestly think that you and a bunch of your measly pit fighters can take down the governing power of an entire planet?" I quirked my helm slightly, and gave him a coy smile. "Your mechs may be vicious, but they are disorganized and selfish. A group of petty criminals does not make an army, and an exceptionally good army is what you need before you can even dabble into the thought of taking Cybertron from Autobot rule…"

His plating, under my touch, was warm and strumming with forcefully contained raw strength. The only thing keeping him from lashing out at me was probably the fact that he needed to convince me to join him on his little suicide mission. He was a beast in every aspect, and I was the only one safe from his wrath. My spark shivered in superiority and euphoria, and I smirked, leaning closer toward him.

The closest medic started backing away, glancing at us dartingly, and the rest of his coworkers followed suit. All optics were on me as I taunted my ground pounder provocatively, and I let them watch, because they needed to be shown that the Crown Prince of Vos was not going to lay his pretty little wings down for anyone.

"An exceptionally good army is what you have, Starscream," Megatron did not move, but his voice gained an edge as tension rose between us. "Your fliers are the only air force Cybertron has. The military and scientific prowess of your city is notorious even amongst the inhabitants of Kaon. Your army is ready to be dispatched the instance you issue a command, and your soldiers are, without a doubt, loyal to you."

My smirk grew wider by the klik. I could stay right where I was and listen to him flatter me all night cycle.

"However, it will take far more than your dominance in the sky to win against the Autobots." His optics narrowed, and a crackle of light sparked out of them. I immediately stilled, and my hand halted its exploration across his chassis. "Regardless of the speed and agility your kind boasts of, Starscream, your numbers are overpowered. You will need me and my mechs to tear open the frontlines as you attack from above. Ground combat is inevitable to take down the Autobots completely."

I bit my lips, and averted my gaze.

"I have no intention of engaging in conflicts with the Autobots." I truly did not. "Despite being foolish and laughable, they leave Vos alone and keep all you ground pounders in check. I have no reason to attack them." I began to lean away, taking my hand back. While Megatron was interesting for a ground pounder, I was not about to participate in this skirmish that had absolutely nothing to do with me or my fliers.

His hand shot up so quickly that only my wings registered the movement before he grabbed onto my wrist, and abruptly tugged me down.

I startled, letting out a thin yelp, and stumbled on my thrusters. I fell, and landed on top of him, sprawled out and momentarily stunned. Before I could even begin shouting and lashing out at him in indignation, his other arm reached around, and wrapped over my midsection, trapping me tightly against his frame. With a slight shake of my helm, I snapped out of my stupor of shock, and pressed my remaining free hand flat on his chassis. I pushed, and struggled valiantly to get away, kicking with my peds. I shrieked at him to let me go, embarrassment making the plating of my cheeks aflame with gathering energon. I fought against him for a lengthy moment, refusing to settle down until he tightened his grip around my wrist. It hurt, and I winced, biting back a pained whine.

"You must be a fool if you do not notice the way the Autobots watch your city, Starscream," He spoke, voice so low that if we were not so close, I would not have heard it. Our faceplates were right in front of each other's, the tips of our nose bridges gently brushing. "The advantage of being in the smelting pit of our planet is that mechs generally don't care about what they say here." His lips curled into a minute scowl, and the expression harsh and ugly. "The Autobots have plans for you and your fliers, Starscream. It'd be a shame to see them succeed."

I took in a shaky cycle of air, and squirmed, hoping he would not notice how our crotch-plates touched. It left pleasant tingles all over my frame, most prominently in my core, and I tried vigorously to not think about how his lips would feel like if I were to close the last bit of our distance.

"Why should I believe you, Megatron?" I whispered back, staring at him just as intently as he was watching me.

"You and I have a common enemy," He answered bluntly, optics fiery and bright. "Having your allegiance will greatly benefit my goal, as well as yours."

"I might consider an _alliance_, ground pounder, but I will never bow to anyone's command." I spoke with as much conviction as I felt, studying the way his optics flared as he looked at me.

We both remained still, caught in an inelegant embrace. Our wills battled between our optics, his wishing to dominate mine, and mine not giving in to his. From our proximity, I could almost feel the heat of his spark behind his thick plating, warming the glass of my canopy. His grip on my wrist was no longer crushing, but firm and tight. His arm was heavy around my waist, keeping a possessive hold around my frame. His cooling fans sent out air currents against the flight sensors in my wings, and they fluttered, enjoying the streams of gentle breeze. I thought we were going to remain in this position for joors until he finally broke our temporary silence:

"You _will_ wear my mark, Starscream."

His voice was in a low growl, and his lips pulled back, baring his gritted dentae. His optics narrowed, and the light behind them erupted into a fiery hue most feral and ferocious. My spark positively throbbed. It felt swollen, and it burned. My lips fell apart, and my intakes gasped. Heat pooled and expanded in my core, lighting up my neural pathways with sharp sensations of electric charge. My wings gave a violent tremble, and they hiked up higher on my back. I could not tell whether the fierce burn came from his crotch-plating, or mine.

"No flier…will ever wear the mark of a ground pounder as long as I am the sovereign of Vos, Megatron…" I spoke shakily, voice hushed and heated.

He smirked then, lips tilting upward, and released a small chuckle.

"You already do, Starscream," His hand squeezed firmly around my plating. "You are already _mine_."

Moisture began to gather behind my valve cover, and I almost moaned, squeezing my thighs together. His words proved my speculation that he recognized me from that night cycle, when I had allowed him to ravish me. Realization now undeniable, I could no longer look at him straight in the optics, and turned my gaze downward. I could no longer deny this desire of mine, this sick, twisted obsession that I held toward this ground pounder.

I wanted him to touch me. I wanted to feel his coarse, rough hands against my wings. I wanted his fingers on every part of me, igniting heat and stirring awake sensors that had lain dormant for far too long. I wanted much more than only his hands, and my cheek plating burned just at the thought of the extent of my desire.

My desire…that would never be fulfilled, because even though he desired me too, even if we were to become allies and wage war against the Autobots and succeed, he was a still ground pounder and a miner, and I was a Seeker and the Prince of my State.

There were much more important things than my silly little desires.

"I belong to Vos," I turned my gaze back to his optics, and spoke with much more firmness than I felt. "Unless the need for retaliation is necessary, I will not open fire on Autobot authority over Cybertron. My decision still stands: I refuse your request, and expect you to cease your attempts at recruiting my fliers."

I was attracted to this ground pounder, but that was not going to cloud my vision for the future of my city. While there was no reason for Megatron to lie to me about believing that the Autobots had plans for me, there was no visible threat at the moment. I did not believe the Autobots would attack my fliers any time soon. They simply did not have the weaponry to do so. I had no interest in ruling over the rest of Cybertron. I had no interest in being sovereign to ground pounders. Vos was my responsibility, my only responsibility, and it would remain topmost priority as long as I was its authoritative figure.

Megatron looked a little annoyed at my refusal, but he did not appear as bothered as I thought he would be. He simply nodded, and loosened his hold around my body. I slowly pulled away with more reluctance than I would have liked to admit, and returned to standing on my peds. I had never felt more gratitude toward Primus when no lubricant escaped the seams of my valve panel, and silently released a huff of air through my vents.

"My offer still stands, Starscream," Megatron's voice regained to its previous volume for all to hear. "When you change your mind, contact me directly." I felt a foreign ping through my comm. system, and accepted its request with my personal frequency. Our comm.-links aligned, and I had to quell the fluttering in my spark with a forceful strength of will in order to stop a tiny smile that threatened to quirk my lips.

Instead, I pulled my lips back into a frustrated scowl.

"Have you heard _nothing_ I said?" I did not wait for him to reply, and turned on my heels, walking to the door. My thrusters made audible clicks against the floor, and I felt my hips sway more than usual as I made my leave. I knew I was flaunting, but to make me admit such would take nothing short of the combined effort of Unicron and all of his smelting pits.

Soundwave followed after me. I slowed down to let him take the lead only because I did not know the way out. Thundercracker returned to my right wing as we walked past the yellow guard, and Skywarp begrudgingly took my left.

Our trip to the surface did not feel as long as our trip down, despite the route being the same. Perhaps the discrepancy was due to my processors replaying the scene back in the med bay in a never-ending loop, keeping note of every little detail of Megatron's frame and his optics. This certainly did not help diminish the heat in my core, which was still burning strong even after Skywarp teleported us back to the warehouse on the outskirts of Iacon. Soundwave was intoning something or another, and I only nodded distractedly, shifting uncomfortably on my peds as my arousal would not go away.

"Skywarp," Thundercracker's voice caught my attention, and I turned my helm toward my trine mates during Soundwave's midsentence, "Come back with us to Vos. Our trine is not the same without you."

Skywarp averted his optics, looking to the side instead of meeting Thundercracker's imploring gaze. My purple trine mate rubbed his faceplate, and his wings twitched with uncertainty.

"…_Please_, 'Warp." Thundercracker reached for Skywarp's hands, and held them tightly to his cockpit, "Our trine has not flown together for ages. I really miss it, flying as a trine."

I could not tear my optics away from my trine mates. I wanted to throw in a sarcastic comment, or tell the purple idiot that I did not need him, but I could not. Thundercracker was being too sincere for me to be a little glitch and ruin his moment. I forced my gaze to the ground, though I still kept a keen audial on their conversation. Thundercracker was not wrong. I missed flying with my trine too.

I sighed softly through my vents. At least the heat in my core was beginning to dwindle.

"We've never really gotten along as seamlessly as other trines, but this is ridiculous," Thundercracker continued to speak in a gentle, pleading voice. "There's nothing a trine can't talk about. We'll work things out like we always do, so—…come back, 'Warp. Come back home."

Skywarp still had not replied, which was surprising since he usually always had something to say.

"…I—…I-…-Oh for Primus's sakes, I miss you, 'Warp. _I miss you_." I heard Thundercracker's peds shuffle around, and I knew he was flustered. "Even Starscream misses you."

My wings jerked as I startled with a jolt. Why did Thundercracker have to bring _me_ into his sappy little moment? My helm snapped up, and my optics returned to my trine mates. With a small jump, I realized they were both staring at me expectantly.

My cheek plates began to grow warm as I backed away a step, feeling suddenly very defensive. What the slag were they looking at me for? They were making me extremely uncomfortable from the way their optics sparkled, Skywarp's with hope and Thundercracker's with plea. Embarrassed and put on the spot, my lips parted, and I blurted out the first thought that raced through my processors:

"I-I don't miss you! Don't be absurd." I spluttered, crossing my arms over my chassis and pressing my lips tightly together.

"Star!" Thundercracker's exclamation of exasperation was cut off by Skywarp's growl.

"Well, I don't miss you either! Or your stupid city, in fact!" My purple trine mate bit out, optics glowing brighter in rising anger.

"Watch what you say, Seeker. Vos is your city too." I spoke softly, but my voice held a hard edge.

"Not anymore, Starscream," Skywarp gave his wings a perk. "I no longer belong to you or your stupid city," He pointed at me, snarling aggressively. "I might've been sparked in Vos, but it's my choice to become a Decepticon, and I'm sticking to it!"

Every joint in my body slowly grew rigid, and my optics narrowed to slits.

"_Choice?_" I hissed, vents making a sharp, scoffing blast of air, "Choice is only an illusion fabricated by those in power to keep lesser mechs happy, Seeker." I spoke cruelly through gritted dentae, and walked toward him, steps measured and deliberate. "You have no choice, my dear trine mate. As a flier, my choice is your choice." My glare turned icy, and my words turned cold: "Without Vos, you are nothing. Without _me_, you are _nothing_." I stopped right in front of him, and gave the purple sigil on his left wing a careless slap with the backs of my fingers. "_This_ is a joke. Do me a favour and quit being an embarrassment to the flier kind."

Skywarp's faceplate was a thunderstorm of emotions. He never was one to conceal much. His whole frame was shaking. His lips quivered, and he bit them so forcefully that I would not be surprised if he drew energon. His optics were flashing wildly, brilliant red and flaring crimson clashing as he battled to keep himself in check. His fists were clenched tightly by his sides, and his vents made harsh whirring sounds as his fans blew out hot air at my wings.

"…You don't understand anything, do you, Star?" He spoke slowly, voice low and half-whispered.

I was a little taken back, brow-ridges knitting together in a slight frown. I did not expect him to call me by that nickname.

"I don't even know what to say to you anymore." He laughed, the sound light and raspy, and the corners of his lips shook. "I've always thought that…I've always thought—…" Static made his vocalizer stall, and he paused. "…I guess I was wrong. You have no idea what your city is really like, do you."

He was not acting like how I expected him to act, and that made me feel extremely uneasy. I did not know how to respond, so I reacted as how I have always done in situations where I felt extremely uneasy: I became angry.

"What inane farce are you on now, you scrapped glitch?" I shouted up at him, wings fanning out.

"I'm not on anything, Star!" He protested, features in a grimace, "It's you who should be—"

"-Don't you dare insult my city, Seeker!" I pointed at him threateningly, rising higher on my peds as I interrupted him without pause. "Stop making up lies to make your insignificant little spark feel better! For pit's sakes, Skywarp, grow up already! If you made half a sense I'd be inclined to listen to you, but I will _not_ stand here and allow you you to babble about things you don't know slag about!"

"Frag it, Starscream! If you want to understand me then stop cutting me off!" He shouted back, taking a big step forward and bumping our cockpits together. "You don't know anything about Vos, do you? You think Vos is some perfect little city with a bunch of pretty little towers where every flier can go on in their perfect little lives without having to worry about anything! You think every flier is happy in Vos because Vos is every flier's home, and you are always happy in your home, right? Well _no_, that's not right!" He threw his arms to the side in a wide sweep, and screamed right into my faceplate:

"You sit on your pretty little high throne, sipping your refined energon, looking down at everyone beneath you while they wave at you from below being all happy just 'cause they're under your shiny little optics, and you don't see the problem in that picture at all! Well, _frag me_, Starscream, I'll _tell_ you _exactly_ what your problem is!" He gave my cockpit a hard jab with a finger, and I winced, taking a step back. "When was the last time you went to the lower towers, Star? _When!_" He paused, looking at me, daring me to answer even though he knew exactly what my answer would be.

"…I-…I—" I stuttered, shaking my helm.

"That's what I thought…" He made another humourless bark of laughter before pulling his lips back in a snarl. "Well, let me _tell_ you how it is." His words held an ominous tinge, and I shivered, wanting to hide from his optics, which were shining more passionately than I had ever seen them.

"While you recharge comfortably in your soft, perfect berth, fliers can barely get by in the lower towers." He began, tone bitter and stare hard and piercing. "Have you ever been to the outer edges of Vos, Star, right before the walls of the labyrinth? Fliers have to live so low to the ground that when they step out their door, they can walk on Vos's foundations!" His intakes were loud, and he glowered down at me, trembling in held-back fury. "Did you know about that? Did you?"

I gaped at him, lips parted and optics wide.

I did not know.

"As magnificent as your city is, Starscream, it's not so magnificent when you have to practically live right above the sewers!" He yelled at me, voice strained and loud. Frustration and anger were apparent on his faceplate, but he also looked hurt, brow-ridges pulling together in a deep frown.

"…When you holed up everyone with your walls, Star, you forgot that a lot of fliers had jobs outside of Vos, and that a lot of us depended on the trade between Vos and the rest of Cybertron to survive! Yes, you're trying to keep us safe. Yes, you implemented the Act of Unicron-knows-what so all fliers affected by your orders will receive help from your government, but the amount of credits we get is _not enough_. It's not _nearly_ enough!" He grabbed my shoulders, and shook me. I could only look at his lips, and focused on the way they trembled as he spoke.

"Fliers are high-maintenance slaggers, Star. You should know that better than anyone! Do you have any idea how expensive it is to have a Seeker sparkling? My creators had two, Star, _two_!"

My optics jerked up in confusion. Two? Skywarp had a sibling unit? Why was I never informed? I was just about to access his files through the Seeker Registry when my processors suddenly noticed something peculiar about the last sentence he had said.

Realization slowly dawned to me, and horror seized my spark as my fuel lines ran cold.

"…What happened, back then, when your creators were assassinated…" His hands were so tight grasping around my shoulders that I could feel a potent throb. "The reason no one, not one single flier, protested at all against your orders to completely shut Vos off was because many families suffered, Star. The fume that put everyone in near stasis poisoned many sparklings and younglings, especially those of the working class when it sunk and stayed in lower towers."

"…B-But…" I shook my helm. "The medics, they found a way to save _every_one. I was one of the first to undergo the treatment, Skywarp! I made sure it worked!"

"It did…" Skywarp muttered, and looked away, helm dipping. "It did…but not everyone could afford it, Star, especially after income became tight when Vos was sealed off." He paused, and a haunted expression shrouded over his faceplate. "…My family unit was one of them, and my creators chose the stronger of us to finish the treatment."

Silence simmered for a long moment in the air, stretching thin the horrible truth.

"…You've never had to see, Star…what hunger and desperation does to a mech…" The gaze behind his lowered optics was hollow, its depth endless and terrifying. "…And what helplessness does to a creator…"

I did not know what to say.

I was stunned speechless, and could only stare at Skywarp's hidden faceplate with wide optics.

No one told me anything about family units having to choose between which of their sparklings to save. No one mentioned anything about the state of the working class after all trade with the rest of Cybertron had stopped. I was told everyone found new jobs within my city, and that everything was taken care of.

"Fliers are strong, your Highness," My advisors had told me, "Everyone must make sacrifices, but your citizens will find ways to survive, and we will help them." They had reassured me, and I had taken their words to spark.

I had merely glanced over their reports, and had been too deep in personal turmoil to question the truthfulness behind them.

"I—I'm not blaming you for what happened or anything," Skywarp leaned away a little, and took in deep cycles of air as he tried to gather himself, hiding the gathering coolant under his optics. "I'm just saying…We can't keep holing ourselves up forever. I mean—…Frag it! Look at what I had to do just to make some credits!" He made a face, looking pained. "You think I'm not ashamed of what I'd done? But once I started, I—I couldn't stop…I couldn't stop! 'Cause Primus-damn it, it felt good to suddenly have so much after having so little for so many vorns!" He cursed agitatedly, and bit his lips.

"…I really am sorry, Star…I really am." He finally calmed down a little, and spoke quietly, but sincerely. "…I stopped if that'd make you feel better…" He murmured, tilting his helm down to discreetly rub his optics with a hand.

I did not know what to say, processors still overwhelmed. Skywarp remained silent for several kliks, faceplate abundant with emotions.

"…Fliers in the lower towers will keep living the way they do unless something drastic is done." When he finally resumed speaking, his expression was completely serious, and it was so unlike him that I felt almost intimidated, my frame beginning to shake. "We need the resources the rest of Cybertron has to offer. We need to establish trade," He turned his optics back to me, expression hard and determined. "But even a Seeker like me can tell trade isn't what the Senates are after. Pits, they're rich and greasy enough as it is. They're not gonna care if trade with us will help their working class too."

I did not answer right away. I could not. My vocalizer had frozen, and it took many tries for me to utter a reply.

"…Do you truly understand what you are trying to convince me to do, Skywarp?" I whispered, voice shaky and breathy. "Do you fully comprehend the scale of consequences that would follow should I make the decision you are implying I should make?"

"I'm not much of a planner, Star, and I sure am not smart enough to think about consequences," Skywarp looked away sheepishly for a moment. Running a sigh through his vents, he returned his optics to mine, and his gaze was starkly honest. "I do what my spark tells me, and my spark tells Megatron will win."

I did not even know how I felt, so I only stared.

"Megatron knows what it's like to be in the smelting pits, Star. He won't be like the Autobots." Skywarp's optics started to sparkle with hope, the same hope mirrored in his voice. "I think—…I really think he can change things!"

I could no longer keep his gaze.

"He _isn't_ like the Autobots." I averted my optics, making a small grimace, "He's not going to even pretend there's any authority but his."

"Well, at least he's honest about that." Skywarp made a sloppy shrug.

"Skywarp…" I pushed away, sighing tiredly. "A tyrant is not going to leave Vos alone as an independent city state." I could not believe I was even considering the possibility of Megatron somehow overthrowing the Autobots.

"But you like him, don't you?" Skywarp simply stated, "And he definitely likes _you_."

His words hit me straight in the spark, and I froze on the spot, joints stiffening.

"…Wait a breem…" I suddenly realized something, "Did you…_set us up_?"

Skywarp tried to appear innocent, but a grin was spreading too quickly on his faceplate for him to contain it.

"You-You—" I could only point at the slagger as humiliation and fury shot through my system. "You glitch!" I screamed out, fuming on my peds, "I'm going to deactivate you!"

"Whoa, Star, relax!" He backed away, and held up his hands in a defensive manner, "I honestly was just trying to get you two to somehow meet each other! That's all!"

I narrowed my optics at him, and scowled.

"Speak quickly, Skywarp, before I decide _shooting you_ is a better option." My null rays gave a warning hum, and Skywarp's optics glanced at them fearfully.

"I—I stumbled upon Megatron one night cycle in Kaon. He didn't know I was there, but I heard the conversation he was having with his team mates. He said something about change and getting rid of the Autobots, and it sounded like a really good idea, so I thought about how great it'd be if we can join in on his plan." He blurted out rapidly, "I just thought it'd be beneficial for Vos, honest! I totally didn't know you'd like him so much!"

"I don't like him!" I shouted, and he flinched.

"No! No! Of course not!" He waved his hands in front of him as he quickly shook his helm. "You just wanna frag him!"

"_What!_" My voice rose to a whole different range.

"Kidding! Just kidding!" He dared to have the spark to snicker, and my arms instantly shot up, aiming my cannons at his faceplate. He yelped, turning around and darting to the side. My null rays followed, and I was just about to give him a nice scorch mark on his aft when something big and blue caught my attention.

Soundwave.

I immediately froze, staring at him as I suddenly remembered his existence. He was so silent and still that I had completely forgotten that he was there, as absorbed as I was with my trine mates.

Soundwave had seen and heard _everything_.

…which included Skywarp's preposterous comments just now.

Soundwave knew too much.

My optics narrowed.

Soundwave needed to _die_.

However, before I could switch my aim toward him, Soundwave spoke as though he knew exactly what I was thinking at the moment.

"Situation within Seeker Trine: Irrelevant information. Irrelevant information: Unreported."

I scrutinized him, trying to discern whether he was telling the truth or not. The blue grounder wisely bowed, and, satisfied with his submissive behaviour, I lowered my null rays.

"Good." I spat out with much threat and malice, giving him one last glare before turning back to face my trine. I gave Skywarp a brief, peeved look before huffily ignoring him in favour of addressing Thundercracker, who, much to my annoyance, wore a small, content smile on his faceplate.

"We will return to Iacon, since the Autobots are undoubtedly looking for us by now." I raised my voice to a commanding volume, and perked up my wings. "As for _you_," Skywarp shrunk under my hard gaze, "I have not forgiven you, so staying in Kaon is a good idea for you at this time." Not to mention he could also keep an optic on what Megatron was doing. Turning my attention to Soundwave, I waited until he completely faced me before giving him a message to forward:

"Tell Megatron my decision remains the same, and that if he wants even the slightest chance of Vos becoming an ally in the future, he should do well to respect my words."

"Affirmative." Soundwave answered with his toneless voice.

I hummed with a small frown, unimpressed, and prompted made my leave.

"Come, Thundercracker. We will return to Iacon at full speed." I did not spare a single glance at a certain purple idiot even though he waved goodbye at us. Walking out of the door, I quickly transformed, and took off with my blue trine mate in tow. I tried to ignore the aforementioned purple idiot rushing out of the warehouse to watch us fly away, but my spark, regardless, pinched longingly for my third wing.

Quickly shaking that feeling off, I abruptly rose in altitude.

More important matters needed my attention than a stupid trine mate who had gone and broken at least a dozen Vosian laws by pledging loyalty to an arrogant ground pounder.

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><p><strong>Notes: <strong>Editing this chapter was…both intense and intensive. Primus, I literally feel physically drained. If this chapter contains any stupid grammatical mistakes and/or awkward phrasing, please excuse them. It's far too long for me to do a second round of editing.

I apologize sincerely for the tardiness of this update. Hopefully, the length of this chapter has appeased you. If you were expecting smut, I'm very sorry. You'll have to wait a little while longer before Megatron and Starscream have proper sexy time together.

I'm not very sure what had prompted me to make Sentinel into a half-crazed bastard, but that's what he is now. XD I'd like to think he's not as sparkless as he makes himself to be, but that's a thought for another time. In the mean time, poor Starscream has to deal with creepy ground pounders (cough-Soundwave-cough). It's like he has a creeper magnet.

This might not have been very obvious, but the senator that greeted Starscream at the very beginning of the chapter is Ratbat. Just thought I should let you know in case you're wondering since Star just happened to forget who he was :))

Aaaaand Skywarp returns! Hopefully his explanation as to why he's rather excitable when it comes to his class status was satisfactory. Admittedly, it's not the most original idea ever in the history of the universe, but my brain refused to come up with anything else, so it is what it is. Sorry if it's a little cheesy – I tried to make it less so, donno if it worked.

Special-thanks time once again to all my lovely reviewers _Koluno1986, Devlinn Reiko_,_ Random523_,_ Ashcola17_,_ Koko bear_,_ Dellykins_,_ Riley_,_ The Happy Shark _(I swear, every time I see your username I become all :DDDD), _Hedgie-Chan_,_ ChaosGarden_,_ Death by Shovel _(I go :DDDD when I see your username too, haha!),_ PwnKage_,_ and wolf-dream94_! As always, hearing from you is a wonderful thrill, and all of your comments are greatly appreciated.

Riley! I have read your incredibly kind review, and I have a brief message for you. It's already been posted in "Cepheus", so I'll just paste it here: "…I just wanted to give you my biggest thanks for your continuous support and lovely comments. I'm utterly ecstatic every time I read your reviews, and I love how in-depth they are. I appreciate them greatly. You should definitely register for an account on FF and post your stories if you feel the inclination to. It'd definitely make contacting you easier ;))".

One last thing: **Add me on** _**Facebook**_! Acteon Carolsfeld. I have a picture of blue sky and clouds with the silhouette of a jet as my profile picture :))))

Edit: People seem to be having trouble finding me on facebook. If so, please go to my profile and access the link. That should work if the search box doesn't. Thank you!)

I really hope you enjoyed reading this chapter. Much blood and sweat was shed in editing this monster. As I was going through everything, I realized that the part with Megatron isn't all that long. Sorry if you were expecting a lengthier interaction.

So, did you think Starscream succeeded in showing Megatron his rightful place? Haha! Please let me know! ;))

A review would be all kinds of wonderful :D


	7. VIII

Disclaimer: There is much I do not own, but I do own a little.

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><p>VIII<p>

The Autobots were indeed looking for Thundercracker and I as we returned to their headquarters. After constructing half-truths to placate them, my trine mate and I made our way back to Vos. For the rest of the night cycle, I tossed and turned on my recharge berth, processors distracted by thoughts of Megatron, his proposal, and Skywarp's revelations. When it finally became apparent that I was not going to get any recharge, I decided to check on my little experiments.

In hindsight, calling them "little" was rather understating.

I got up from my berth, and walked to the shelf covering the far wall. Reaching for its third level, I counted for the twelfth data pad from the right, and took it off before entering a sequence of codes. The shelf gave a quiver as I replaced the data pad, and it began to slowly shift apart. The doors to my personal laboratory appeared, and I patiently waited while they slid open. The room that came into view was not strictly scientific as it used to be. There were now only a few containers of chemicals, beakers, and measuring equipments to be seen. The contents of this chamber had undergone great changes, and it has become entirely dedicated to the development of experimental weaponry. My personal favourite, the null ray cannons, was created here, along with many other weapons my military used.

Rifles, missile launchers, and many other types of artillery lined the walls, some fully assembled and waiting to be tested, while some were still in their second or third developmental stage. At the very end of the long room sat my most powerful and ridiculous creation yet: the Fusion Cannon. Its massive, black, monstrous appearance was a perfect reflection of its firepower. Just the sight of it alone was enough to make even me, its creator, a little wary on my peds. Despite being currently deactivated and cold, it radiated power. I had only tested the cannon once. It blasted half of the firing range to complete slag and blew off an entire wall.

I had no idea why I bothered to make such a horrendous thing. The Fusion Cannon was of no use to fliers. It was simply too big and heavy, even for the Space Shuttles. In order to test this large chunk of dead weight, I had to build a platform specific to its size and the force of its backlash. I could never forget the look on Nightfire's faceplate as he rushed into the firing range after the explosion. He had been worried enough when he heard the noise and felt the impact. However, once he fully took in the amount of damage I had inflicted with my creation, I honestly thought he was going to blow a major fuel line.

I patted the Fusion Cannon fondly, albeit somewhat sadly. Having it simply sit here collecting dust was such a shame. Without exaggeration, I could confidently say this was the most dangerous frame-attachment weapon yet created. Though it was useless on a flier, on a strong enough ground pounder, it could bring down buildings with one shot alone. Not that I would ever give the indication that such a weapon was hiding in Vos, of course. I was not so stupid as to expose my ownership of such power.

After I polished the Fusion Canon, I spent the next few joors working on my various projects. The silence of my lab comforted me, and the precise care needed for my task kept my processors from revisiting what had happened during the night-cycle before. By the time I finally took a big stretch of my limbs and checked my internal chronometer, morning court was fast approaching. I had just enough time to have a brief wash.

Putting my tools and projects away, I left my laboratory, and reactivated the locking mechanisms. Once I was sure everything was secured, I walked across my berth room, and entered the shower chamber. With a quick flick of my wrist, I flipped open the cover of the setting pad on the wall, and selected a medium-pressure spray with mild-grade solvent. After a small beep of acknowledgement, the showerheads turned on, and I stepped under them, shoulder vents making a small sigh of comfort.

From all direction, warm water cascaded over my frame. It streamed down my wings, tickling my flight sensors. Before long, steam rose from the floor, and its scent was sweet from the solvent in the water. I offlined my optics, and tilted my helm back, simply allowing the wash to do its job. My wings swung slowly back and forth so the sprays could reach their joints, and a small moan left my lips when they did, the sensation pleasant and soothing. I thought I could melt from how good it felt, tension leaving my frame with the flow of the water. By the time the shower cycle ended, I was feeling both cozy and content, and was gleaming quite beautifully.

A comfortable current of air started to circulate in the shower chamber, drying the lingering moisture on my plating. I opened the cabinet holding my cans of polish, and sifted through the numerous containers while I waited for the drying cycle to end. I decided on a wax for extra-shine, and took a new polishing cloth from the rack. Once all dampness vanished from my plating, I left the shower chamber, and hopped onto my berth to apply the polish.

I was not as careful with the application as usual, but the end result was satisfactory for morning court. My form was smooth and sleek, without a single speckle of dust marring its perfection. The bright glimmer of the wax complimented my paintjob brilliantly, and it added a nice, glossy touch to my plating's natural sheen. By the time I arrived at the Grand Hall, I was feeling more refreshed than I had been for decas, despite not having had any recharge. I waved at Thundercracker with one of my wings when I walked by, and even gave Nightfire a playful wink with my left optic. He almost dropped his data pad out of flustered embarrassment, and I hid a snicker.

I ascended the stairs leading to my throne, and took my seat. The customary procession of hailing my designation and rank followed, and I waited for the flourish to end before bidding my subordinates to rise. Advisor after advisor stood forward to say their individual greetings, and each of them presented me with a report regarding different aspects of my city. I listened attentively, and asked question only when necessary or curious.

Overall, Vos was functioning as per usual. First patrol of the cycle saw no suspicious activity outside my city's walls, and the only noteworthy incident from the interior guards had been about a group of inquisitive younglings, who had attempted to sneak into Vos's Central Archives to see if its caretaker truly recharged dangling from the ceiling. Thundercracker had to take care of another situation involving Swiftglide's Autobot conspiracy theories, and energon production was a little behind, though Nightfire was confidence the numbers would be caught up by the end of the cycle. An aerial commander requested permission for a training mission outside of Vos for his Elites, which I easily gave. There was still no progress in regards to Firechaser's disappearance. However, more Autobot security forces were engaged in the search when perimeter expanded to include more cities.

By the time morning court ended, the only odd event that really caught my attention was a new trend from the middle-class Seekers. They took a liking to thinner and longer thrusters for their younglings, and some of them even underwent such upgrades themselves. I frowned as the director of Commerce, Skywake, went in great detail to convince me to allow him to manufacture more products. I hesitantly gave my permission, despite being thoroughly confused by the popularity of this trend. There was no proof that such upgrades increased one's speed, and thinner, longer thrusters certainly did not make walking any easier.

Shrugging off the urge to investigate such peculiarity, I decided to take a leisure flight around the perimeter of my city. I had a little more than a joor to spare before my scheduled meeting with Ramjet, and I intended to utilize this rare window of free time to its full potential.

Ramjet was the impulsive young General of the Conehead Seeker Fleet. Despite being a boisterous aft, he was an efficient general, blunt enough to be called honest and straightforward to the point of being borderline tactless. Fortunately, his personality traits meant meetings with him were direct and quick to finish. Perhaps I should instruct him to join me in the sky instead of a conference room. He always loved to chase me around, attempting to ram into me with his nosecone.

I took off from the highest flight deck of my tower, and instantly transformed into jet mode. I pierced through the air, engines making high screeches of exhilaration as I accelerated toward top speed. I broke the sound barrier in merely three kliks, soaring higher into the sky. In very little time, I reached the outer edge of my city. The high walls of the labyrinth came into view, and, right away, I received a ping from my personal comm.-line. I accepted the request, and my chief officer of border patrol, also Striker Jet General, came on.

:_All hail Prince Starscream._: He greeted with formality. :_This is Stormstrike._:

:_Greetings, Stormstrike._: I answered jovially.

:_Taking a joy flight, Sire?_:

:_I felt the need to stretch my wings._: I did a few lazy barrel rolls in the air as I replied.

:_Should I make arrangements for an exit, your Highness?_:

:_There's no need._: I brushed off his inquiry,:_I won't be leaving Vos._:

:_Affirmative, Sire. I will inform all patrol officers that you are in the perimeter._:

:_Good. Starscream, out._: I concluded our short comm. conversation, and made a swift turn as I neared the inner wall of the labyrinth. I decreased my speed once I began to circle my city, and took my time in admiring its splendor. I encountered a few Space Shuttles and quite a number of Seekers along my way. They all transformed in midair, and hovered, dipping their helms as I approached them. I engaged in a slow flip in the air to acknowledge their greetings, and slowed down minutely when I flew past them just so they could fully worship my dazzling form.

After a few breems of slow, relaxing flight, I spotted a group of younglings at a much lower altitude, playing games. They were mostly Cargo Shuttles, though there were a few Strikers and Fighter Jets. They were all very young, barely past sparklinghood. They darted around clumsily, and made quite a ruckus for tossing a thin piece of scrap metal at each other. Their laughter was so loud that even I could clearly hear them from my altitude, where I had slowed down and was flying a wide loop. The piece of metal glinted in the air as it was flung from one hand to another, and each youngling scrambled to catch it before tossing it to a friend. Strangely, no one in the surrounding towers seemed to mind the noise. I made another loop, and was just about to leave them to their fun when I noticed another spectator watching their game.

I almost missed the small frame hiding in the shadow of one of the towers. If it were not for his big, bright optics, I would have overlooked him completely. Most of his frame was hidden. Only his helm was in full view, peeking out and tilted toward the group of younglings fluttering about above him. He wore a curious, fascinated expression on his small, dark faceplate, and, right away, I knew he wanted to join the younglings in their game.

I felt a small tinge of worry in my spark, half hovering as I engaged in another slow loop. While I could not clearly see his frame type, he was obviously only a sparkling. Where were his creators? I could not spot any adult fliers in the vicinity. No matter how safe my city was, sparklings should never be left to wander on their own. Their frames were still fragile, and even if they had already gone through flight lessons, they should not be flying without supervision. A sparkling's thrusters and wings were weak. The simplest distraction could cause them to fall right out of the sky. After all, they were easily startled, and were much more prone to panic.

The little sparkling continued to hide, looking hesitant to approach the younglings. Eventually, he seemed to have made up his mind, and floated out of the shadow. Had I been in base-mode, my optics would have widened. He was a Seeker sparkling, frame still in protoform gray. Small wing stubs could be seen on his back, and from the way they twitched up and down, I could tell he was very interested in the game the younglings were playing. From his size and the fact that he could float easily in the air, I deduced that he was definitely old enough to choose his first paintjob. How strange that his creators had not brought him to a medic and done so, I thought, swerving around for a better view.

The sparkling floated further away from the tower, and slowly made his way toward the younglings. The younglings did not notice him, engrossed in their game. One of the Cargo Shuttles made a wide swoop in the air to catch the spinning piece of scrap metal, and my spark practically jumped out of my spark chamber when he almost swiped the Seeker sparkling with his wings. The shuttle still had not seen the sparkling, and neither did his friends. Dread began to seep across my spark as I watched the sparkling float around the laughing group in a semi-circle, wanting to join in. This whole situation was building up to disaster.

One of the Fighter Jet younglings swung the piece of scrap metal as hard as he could, and sent it hurtling toward one of his Striker friends. The slice of metal spun as it travelled toward the Striker at great speed, but due to its curvature, it flew off track. The Striker youngling anticipated its deviance, and began to chase, ready to intercept its course. There was a high, sharp cry of alarm when one of the Cargo Shuttles finally spotted the Seeker sparkling, but it was already too late. Startled by the shout, the Striker missed the scrap metal, and it continued to shoot through the air, heading straight for the tiny Seekerling. With no time for dismay, I instantly nosedived, engaging my thrusters for top speed.

There was a painfully loud clang as the piece of metal crashed into the Seekerlet. All the younglings cried out, and watched with widened optics as the sparkling let out a high-pitched shriek of agony, and started to fall. None of the younglings reacted, rooted to their spots by horror, and I cursed, blasting after the small Seeker. My spark strummed with anxiety, and my engines screeched, pushed to their limits. I shot past the group of still stunned younglings, and began to gain on the falling sparkling. He was almost within my grasp. My thrusters gave a final surge of speed. I dived past him, and immediately transformed, flipping around in midair in preparation to catch.

He fell into my arms, and I hugged him to my cockpit. Warnings blared in my processors at the speed by which I was continuously travelling downward at, so I turned, and pointed my peds down. There was an audible, whooshing sound when the strong air currents of my hurried descend came in contact with my suddenly suspended frame. I hovered for a few kliks, simply allowing time for my erratically thumping spark to calm, before I slowly started to ascend. Uncurling my hands around the shivering sparkling, I cradled him against my chassis, and began to check for injuries. The sparkling stared at me with rounded optics, and he looked as though his processors could not figure out what had happened. He was undoubtedly in shock, gaping at me while I scanned him with my optics.

So far into my assessment, he seemed to suffer no external damage. There was no visible dent on his body, and no scratch was to be seen on his plating. However, I knew something must be wrong. The chance of him receiving no injury from such hard impact was impossibly small. When it became clear his front side was fine, I carefully turned him over, and could only grimace when I saw his wings. Fortunately, they were still attached to his body, and under the given circumstances, he was already an extremely lucky sparkling to have survived a sharp piece of metal slamming into his back. However, he was far from being unhurt. One of his wings sported a large dent visibly seeping small beads of energon, and the other was clipped on its bottom edge.

As though waking out of a nightmare, the sparkling jolted violently, and began to shake. His optics rebooted, and he tilted his helm back to look up at my faceplate. I could almost hear his processors clicking away as they put together the pieces of the most recent events, and, almost the exact klik after, coolant washed down his cheek plates in streams. His lips abruptly parted, and, suddenly and loudly, he began to wail.

I winced, wings flinching. I had no idea how to comfort sparklings, and this one was screaming at the top of his vocalizer capacity in pain. His reaction was completely understandable, of course, since any flier with such damage would be under enough hurt to shed a few coolant tears, let alone a sparkling. Carefully placing him on his front against my canopy, I shushed him gently, and cooed as softly as I could. He continued to cry, but he seemed to be a little comforted by my presence.

The younglings had flown down. At first, they appeared to be intimidated, as though they did not know how to act around me. I was not certain if they recognized me as their sovereign, but quickly decided to not say anything to alarm them further. Eventually, they gathered around, and looked at the sparkling with concern.

"Is…Is he okay…?" One of them asked, and I glanced over. It was the Fighter Jet youngling that threw the piece of scrap metal. He obviously felt guilty. His wings were almost completely pointed down on his back.

"He has not deactivated, and that's fortunate enough," I answered, and rubbed the sparkling's wing joints with a finger. The sparkling sniffled, and clung tighter around my cockpit. The rubbing seemed to be calming him, perhaps elevating some of the pain.

"B-But if—…if you weren't here…then he would've—…he would've—…" The Fighter Jet looked like he was about to burst into coolant tears as well, and I had to physically bite back a sigh. I was not the mech for this.

"That may be true, but I _was_ here, and that's what matters," I held his shaky gaze with a firm one, and spoke kindly. I was surprised myself by how smooth and warm my voice was, despite the lingering fright in my own spark.

"…What do we do now?" One of the Strikers spoke up, optics darting around at everyone.

"Does any of you know the family unit this sparkling belongs to, and where I can find them?" I asked, knowing that if there was anything that made a sparkling feel better, it was to be with his creators.

All of the younglings looked at each other, and shook their helms with helpless expressions on their faceplates.

This time, I did sigh, shoulder vents sending out a huff of air. "I will ask around then." Concluding the matter, I rose higher in the air, and addressed the group as a whole: "Be watchful, always, of your surroundings." I instructed, "Knowing precisely what's around you at all times is crucial for being a good flier. You are still young, but one can never be too young to learn. Be careful in the future."

They collectively nodded, helms lowering in shame and optics downturned. Suddenly feeling rather awkward, hovering amidst a group of younglings and berating them as though I was their creator, I made a small, coughing sound with my vocalizer, and bade them farewell with a curt nod. Turning around, I took my leave, and flew higher into the sky.

The sparkling was still sniffling, tiny shoulders jerking as his intakes hitched. Coolant continued to flow from his optics, but he was a lot calmer than before, only whimpering every once in a while. I kept my rubbing of his wing joints, and did not speak to him until we were above all towers of the surrounding area. Once I had adequate view of all proximate towers, I looked down, and caught sight of his wet, circular optics.

"What's your designation, Seeker?" I asked in a quiet, comforting voice.

He continued to stare at me, lips quivering before emitting the tiniest of whines, and hugged me tighter.

I frowned, not quite understanding what he was trying to convey.

"…You…have a designation, don't you?" I tried again, and was glad when he made a small nod.

"Do you want to tell me what it is?" I prompted, and, when he nodded again and whispered something, I leaned down, turning my helm to place one of my audials right beside his huddled form. He repeated his whisper, and I heard his quiet reply:

"Sunstorm."

"Sunstorm," I smiled at him, "That's a good designation for a Seeker."

"…Thank you." He replied politely, and my smile tilted higher.

"My designation is Starscream."

"Starscream," He repeated, voice still small, and quirked his helm upward to once again study my faceplate.

"That's right," I gave him a quick nod, "and I'm going to return you to your creators."

His optics flashed at the mention of his creators, and his helm jerked up completely. Despite his wet faceplate and tremours of pain, he started to make happy clicking sounds in succession. No Cybertronian beyond sparklinghood understood the language of sparklings, but Sunstorm was obviously pleased that he was going to reunite with his creators.

"Now, tell me, Sunstorm, where do you live?" I asked, and kept hovering while he looked around.

"Down," He answered, and pointed at the towers.

I began to slowly descend in the air. We lowered past the tips of the towers, and eventually reached the mid levels. We proceeded to pass several takeoff decks until we were well beyond the middle of the towers, yet he gave no indication of asking me to halt. I paused, and frowned in confusion. We were already amongst the lower levels, which were mostly deserted at this joor. There were only two or three takeoff decks left below us before we would reach the storage chambers, and there was nothing beneath the storage chambers.

Sunstorm looked up at me. "Down," He said softly.

My frown deepened, and I wondered if the hit jolted something loose in his processors.

"Sunstorm, there's nothing down there. Are you sure this is the right way?"

I was not certain what part of my words alarmed him, but Sunstorm suddenly stiffened. "…Down! Down!" His little voice gained an edge of urgency, and he pointed downward, faceplate twisting into an expression of fear. "Down!" He begged, and coolant once again swelled from his optics. The large drops of clear liquid rolled down his cheek plates, glistening under the diminishing light around us.

Completely befuddled as to why he was becoming so frightened, I almost chose to comm. the local med bay to have them deal with the situation instead. However, just as I searched through the list of med bays in Vos, a memory file resurfaced:

Skywarp had mentioned something about fliers living at the bottom of the towers, some even right at Vos's foundations.

I looked down at Sunstorm, who was growing more agitated by the klik, even going as far as to struggle in my arms in attempts to get away. He kicked with his little peds, and whimpered loudly. His wide, wet optics darted around, and he made choked, sobbing sounds, hopelessness dawning onto his faceplate. Realization finally pierced me, and I startled when I came to understand the source of his anxiety.

Sunstorm had assumed that I was lying to him, and that I was not returning him to his creators. This little sparkling thought I was going to keep him from his family unit. He thought I was going to take him away and hurt him.

"Sunstorm, calm down," I tried to make my voice as soothing as possible, but the effect sounded awfully flimsy. "I'm going to take you to your creators. I promise." I pretended to not notice the quavering of my reassurances, and ignored the squeezing sensations in my spark. "Don't worry," I ended awkwardly, and started to descend further. Only then did the Seekerling stop struggling, and I hugged him close, even though he did not clutch onto my cockpit as tightly as before.

We went beyond the lowest takeoff decks that I knew of, and the light from Cybertron's sky eventually dimmed. The increasing darkness made my wings twitch, and my optics glanced around rapidly, trying to keep track of all the shadows. There was still enough light for me to see without changing the default settings of my visual sensors, but the towers remained visible mainly due to their inherent glow. Everything was illuminated by a foggy haze. I felt as though Sunstorm and I were leaving Vos behind, and entering a new realm altogether.

I never intimately knew how tall Vos's towers truly were until I began my journey toward their foundations. I was moving at a slow pace for the comfort of the sparkling in my arms, but still, I had good speed. The darkness beneath my thrusters seemed endless, and it felt like a singular entity, immense and alive.

The air here was much too still. It held none of the cool currents swift and abundant at the tops of the towers. Its pressure felt heavy and oppressive around my flight sensors, and its thick presence urged me to cycle air though my intakes with extra vigor just to feel some movement around me. I searched keenly for the bottom, but I could not see it. A tingle of apprehension started to spread in my spark as I peered down, watching myself heading deeper into what took the appearance of an infinite pit.

I shook my helm quickly. I should not think of my own city in such a manner.

"How much further, Sunstorm?" I asked in a mere whisper, optics darting left and right. I thought I saw movements in some of the shadows, but by the time I looked, there was nothing there.

"Down," Sunstorm whispered back, and only then did I realize he had become abnormally quiet. I could still feel the tickling sensation of coolant where he pressed his faceplate against my cockpit, but he no longer soundly cried. He was still obviously in great pain if his shivering was any indication, but he had stopped making small noises. His mannerism was very strange, and it made my spark cool by several degrees.

I ran a deep cycle of air through my system, and did as he asked with minor reluctance. A long, silent moment later, I took another look down, and frowned in confusion when I noticed a dark shape taking form. The dark shape sharpened as we neared it, and eventually became a short takeoff deck. I could not believe my optics, so I rebooted them, and looked again. It was still there, shabby and rather abruptly cut off at the end, but it was a takeoff deck nonetheless. I was so surprised that I unconsciously slowed down to a hover right in front of it, and openly gaped at the structure. The takeoff deck led to a door, which I could only assume led to living quarters. There were dusty windows on the thick wall, and, through them, I could see shadowy forms moving about.

I hovered and stared until Sunstorm gave me a small nudge. I jolted, shook my helm clear of shock, and continued down without a word. Though there was no reason for Skywarp to lie about fliers living down here, seeing their actual dwellings still threw me off. To my greater disbelief, more takeoff decks came into view, gaining in numbers the more downward I went.

My wings gave a startled flick when figures started to cautiously emerge from all direction, floating out of the dark. They were fliers, my fliers, and they stared at me with the same amount of disbelief as I stared at them. The only difference was that they slowly and awkwardly bowed, as though they had just begun to recall the proper conduct when in my presence. I nodded back out of habit alone, and continued on my way, processors skidding as they tried to find a logical reason for these fliers, my fliers, to be living in the shadow of my grand city instead of living within it.

They looked nothing like the fliers of my city. I bit my dentae, and felt the corners of my lips quiver. My fliers were proud, beautiful creatures of the sky, whereas these mechs…they were dull, and faded. Their optics were hardly bright enough to be seen, casting only a weak glow and flickering in the dark like dwindling flames. Their wings hardly moved, and sagged pitifully on their backs, pointing downward. Their entire disposition was tattered and worn, a reflection of the vacant expressions on their faceplates.

They looked empty, and forgotten, and my spark constricted in pain when I realized they were right. Prior to this cycle, prior to Skywarp's confession, I had no idea that they were here at all, their existence a mere blind spot behind the glittering magnificence of my city. They lived a parody of all that Vos stood for, of what the founding beliefs of Vos were. Vos was everything to a flier, but here, in the shadows, these mechs had nothing.

"…How much further, Sunstorm?" I had to forcefully tear my optics away from meeting those hollow stares. Even though I whispered, the trembling in my voice sounded awfully disruptive even to my own audials. It penetrated the flat silence and stillness of the place, and sent out a ripple in the air.

"Almost." Sunstorm replied, voice even quieter than before, and I had to strain my auditory receptors to hear him. Some of the fliers, perhaps attracted by our speech, came a little closer. Their optics admired my form, and I felt almost repulsed, almost nauseated. I was a stark contrast to what they were not, and that notion hurt me.

A distant sound came within range of my audials, and my wings flicked. Someone was shouting, his vocal frequency high in tension. I could not quite make out what he was yelling for, but the klik Sunstorm became aware of that voice, he started to struggle in my arms. His opened his mouth, and a loud call left his lips. The sound made me jump, and it took me a moment to realize he was calling for his carrier creator in sparkling cant.

The reaction was immediate. As soon as Sunstorm made his call, the voice became louder. It was coming closer, and, before long, I could hear the sound of thrusters blasting at full capacity. Several kliks later, I could make out the shape of a Seeker in the distance flying toward us in jet mode. Sunstorm immediately cried louder, and his little arms stretched forward. His little thrusters whirred, and I almost dropped him in alarm that he was going to activate them right against my cockpit. He almost did, but one twitch of his damaged wings sent him squealing in pain, whimpering and shuddering as he curled into himself. His large optics, once again overflowing with coolant tears, kept an anxious watch on the shape of the Seeker with desperate eagerness.

"Sunstorm!" The Seeker called out once again, and transformed in midair as soon as he was close enough. In root mode, he was slightly bigger than I was, and his frame was in a paintjob of white and orange, though the colour had faded and the paint was flaking. His faceplate was white, and he was visibly overwhelmed, optics catching Sunstorm's in a teary gaze. He came closer, and instantly reached out with his arms. Sunstorm began to struggle with renewed vigor, thrusters whirring in ignition once more, but this time, I let go.

Sunstorm made one leap toward his creator, and was instantly engulfed in a tight embrace.

"Oh Primus…Oh Primus!" The orange Seeker exclaimed, furling around his sparkling. He offlined his optics, and ducked his helm, faceplate lowering from view. I could not see if he was crying, but I knew he was upset. His wings shook violently, and his energy field grew erratic. "Where did you go?" He asked his sparkling, voice thin and hitched. "We looked everywhere for you! You had us so worried!" He sounded almost angry, and Sunstorm wailed louder, burying his little helm into the crook of his creator's neck cables.

"It's okay, sweet spark. It's okay. I got you. I got you now." The Seeker's intakes made sharp gasps and hiccupping sounds, but his voice became gentler. He hugged his sparkling close to his cockpit, and rocked back and forth in the air. With an audible sniff, he tilted his helm back to check over Sunstorm's frame. Horror immediately took dominance on his faceplate when he spotted the damage Sunstorm had attained.

"Oh Unicron-above…Sunstorm, you wings!" The Seeker, clearly distraught, let out a strangled whine as though he was in as much pain as his sparkling, "What happened to your wings?" As though on cue, Sunstorm whimpered loudly, and nuzzled closer against the chassis he was pressed against.

"Sunstorm was caught in an accident," I chose to answer for the sparkling, since he was obviously in no condition to make sense after a near-deactivation experience. "He wanted to play with a group of younglings, who were unaware of his presence. The younglings were tossing a piece of metal to each other, and Sunstorm was struck."

The Seeker's helm snapped up as though he had just noticed me hovering a few wingspans away from him. At first, he only stared, holding Sunstorm protectively around his cockpit, but slowly, recognition dawned in his expression. Shock made his optics widen, and he parted his lips, but no sound left his vocalizer. I pondered over the idea of waiting for him to grasp his processors. However, the silence quickly grew awkward, and he was starting to become flustered.

"I was taking a leisure flight over top, and I happened to see the accident. I caught Sunstorm before he could fall far, and decided to help him find his creators." I felt a bit silly, explaining myself to a common civilian, but something in my spark pushed me to do so. The way this Seeker gaped at me made me feel extremely self-conscious. If I were not hovering above ground, I would have shifted on my peds. I felt as though I needed this Seeker's approval for my actions, which was beyond ridiculous. I ended up resetting my vocalizer with a small cough instead, and crossed my arms behind my back just for something to do.

"I am…glad that Sunstorm has found his way home…" I made a stiff nod, and bit back a grimace, not liking how hesitant I sounded. The Seeker did not seem to mind, or even notice my uncertainty. He shook his helm swiftly, and stuttered.

"Y-Your Highness—…I-I'm—I'm…I can't—I can't express just how much-how much I-I—I can't talk—…Wait, no—" He instantly became embarrassed, and bowed low in the air.

"It's alright," I released a silent sigh from my vents, feeling more familiar with the situation now that the Seeker was showing his subordination instead of gawking at me like I was a wondrous reincarnation of Primus himself. That thought made me infinitely pleased, but I gave no outward reaction to it aside from a proud flick of my wings. "I'm glad I was in the vicinity when the accident happened."

"I am too, your Graciousness," The Seeker bowed even lower, almost completely bent in his midsection, "Primus has blessed Vos with a magnificent sovereign, Sire."

I gave a small nod of acknowledgement. "You may rise." I addressed him with formality.

"All hail Prince Starscream!" He spoke firmly and loudly before he straightened, and a murmur from surrounding fliers echoed his call. He glanced at me, but quickly averted his gaze away as though he was not sure if he was allowed to look at me in the optics. Sunstorm made a small mewl of pain in his arms, and he quickly rubbed the sparkling in his wing joints soothingly.

"You should take Sunstorm to a med bay, Seeker," I frowned, looking at the sparkling's wings with worry, "Sunstorm is not in immediate danger, but he took a rather hard hit."

The Seeker's wings made an odd jerk at my suggestion, and he lowered his helm. His optics flashed momentarily before he hid his faceplate from my view, and my frown deepened, not understanding what such a reaction meant.

"O-Of course, your Royal Highness. I will do so as soon as I make a trip home." He replied, voice barely above a whisper.

I felt a little annoyed. A suggestion from me was an order to my subordinates. His response was not satisfactory, and I easily let him know.

"Any creator would bring their sparkling to a medic as soon as they know their sparkling is hurt, Seeker. Why do you need to return home?"

The Seeker instantly grew nervous. His helm snapped up, and his optics widened. He immediately tried to explain himself, expression becoming alarmed, "I—I do not mean to challenge you, Sire. P-Please forgive me if I gave you that impression! It-It's just that—It's just that—…" His optics began to dart around. His wings gave a minute jerk. I sincerely hoped he was not contemplating on trying to escape my question by flying away.

"I'm the fastest Seeker ever sparked in Vos," My voice carried a small hint of a threat, and I narrowed my optics slightly, "Just so you know." I was not about to waste my precious leisure flight time chasing this rugged-looking Seeker just to make sure he took care of his own damned sparkling.

I could practically see his daringly stupid idea evaporate from his processors as his helm returned to its lowered position.

"Of course, Sire, I-I know…"

"Good," I spoke more snappishly than I anticipated, and felt a little bad when the Seeker flinched. I paused a little, and waited for my small wave of annoyance to pass before resuming our conversation. "Answer me, Seeker: why do you need to return home?"

The Seeker could not have looked more uncomfortable as he somehow managed to squirm on his peds in midair. He hugged his sparkling closer, and made absentminded coos when Sunstorm sniffled and made sad, little whines.

"I need to…I need to return home to tell my bondmate I found Sunstorm, Sire…" He whispered, and looked ready to be physically reprimanded as soon as his words left his mouth.

I indeed would have smacked him if it were not for Sunstorm. Does this Seeker think me stupid? He did not need to travel home to inform his bondmate. They were _bondmates_. They could communicate by spark alone! Not even the universe could stop bondmates from talking to each other.

"I will pretend you did not just insult my intelligence, Seeker," I growled, and did not feel bad at all when he flinched again, "Tell me why you need to return home."

The Seeker started to shake, making tiny sounds with his vocalizer as he struggled to find his answer. He even looked around at the other fliers watching us, seeking aid, but none of our spectators volunteered to help him.

"I…I need to return home because—…because I—I…I need to…consult with my bondmate, your Highness…to see how many energon cubes we can ration…" His wings progressively sagged lower on his back, and his voice was laden with shame.

I was confused, and my silence must have told him such for he explained without my asking.

"We…don't have enough credits at the moment, Sire…" His fingers slowed in their gentle rubbing of Sunstorm's wing joints, and the sparkling made a soft noise of complaint, though his creator did not seem to have heard. "…Sunstorm is already long overdue for his checkup, and the med bay cannot do any repairs unless they have the most updated reports."

"Get him a checkup then." My lips curled at having to state the obvious, and I was starting to feel annoyed again.

"B-But we don't—we don't have enough credits, Sire," His voice abruptly gained a note of desperation, "We don't have enough credits for both a checkup and a repair at the same time! …So—…So I have to—…I have to return home…to see how many energon cubes we can spare as substitute payment instead."

Energon cubes as payment? What absurdity!

"How exactly do you plan to function without energon?" I grimaced, feeling stupid just asking such a question.

"W-Well…we can find a way to be efficient with as little fuel as possible, your Highness…" The Seeker answered meekly, and when my energy field promptly flared with rising anger at his answer, he hastily added: "We would never starve Sunstorm, Sire! We always make sure he has enough energon, but-but we are mature mechs. We can handle a little hunger."

I stared at the Seeker still squirming in the air, a frown prominent on my brow ridges. "I'm afraid I cannot fully understand your implications, Seeker." I uncrossed my arms from behind my back, and allowed them to hang by my sides, "I've always been informed that every flier in Vos who has financial difficulties is being aided by the Flier Welfare Program."

"We _are_ being helped, your Highness." The Seeker replied quickly, voice soft with gratitude, "We wouldn't have been able to afford having a sparkling if it weren't for your generosity."

I waited for him to continue, but he did not.

"…Does your bondmate…not work?" I chose to ask, furthering the discussion.

"Oh yes! Yes, he does, Sire! He works very diligently!" The Seeker's helm perked up right away as he eagerly defended his bondmate, "Ever since I had to ask for sparkling-leave he's been working even more than usual, but he…he recently had an accident, so he was asked to leave his post until he's been repaired."

"Does his employer not give him compensation for his injury?" I felt another inkling of anger starting to burn in my spark.

"He did, your Highness," The Seeker replied, quelling my anger, "Every cycle my bondmate is away from work, credits are being transferred to our account."

"Then why is your bondmate still unrepaired?" I pushed on, insistent to get to the bottom of this situation. The Seeker bit his lips, and he visibly deflated, helm tilting downward shamefully.

"…We thought it was better to buy Sunstorm some refined energon first, Sire…" He curled further inward around his sparkling. "Sunstorm was having aches in his system from what he had been consuming, so…" His voice trailed off to silence, and that silence remained for many kliks, during which the whole situation finally came together in my processors.

Just the thought of any flier, let alone a sparkling, consuming anything other than refined energon made my tank churn with discomfort.

I needed to see the living conditions of my forgotten fliers.

"…Take me to your home," I instructed, voice even but mildly tense.

"…Y-Your Highness…?" The Seeker looked startled.

"Take me to your home," I repeated, and added when he looked like he was about to argue: "That is an order."

"…Yes, Sire." He bowed respectfully, though he sounded rather reluctant. "Please follow me." He waited till I gestured for him to start leading the way before turning around and flying away. I made to follow, but a glimpse of my surroundings stopped me. The fliers were still here, watching me with darkened optics. They were all mine, equal in every manner as their counterparts living at higher towers, yet they led such different lives. I nodded stiffly at them before taking off after the Seeker. Once I returned to my tower, I would have to do something about the living conditions of these citizens.

The Seeker took me around towers, swerving left and right. A breem later, he flew downward, and landed on one of the short, stubby takeoff decks. I landed after him, and sent him a wondering glance when he chose to fidget as opposed to opening the door.

"I…I wasn't expecting any company, your Highness," He explained, "so I didn't make any preparations, not that there's much for me to prepare to begin with…" I suspected he had wanted to make a small joke, but it fell stale. Embarrassed, he hurriedly turned around, and entered the code to the door. The door slid open after a soft beep, and he waited by the side to allow me entrance first. I walked into his home, and was instantly put off by how cramped the place was.

Upon second inspection, the size of the Seeker's home was not small. It was the low ceiling that made my wings twitch in discomfort. The room was extremely bare. There was a table by the right side with two chairs around it, and a simple couch sat on the left with a few data pads thrown on top. There were toys on the floor, but they were little more than reshaped scrap metal. Upon a full sweep of the place, I noticed only one inner chamber door, which was currently closed. Across from the door, there was a counter, and some cabinets. A half-emptied energon cube sat on top of the counter, and its colouration immediately told me that it was low-grade, which was almost as coarse as industrial-grade energon. Low-grade was usually only consumed by hard-labourers such as miners. I could not believe such energon could even be found in Vos, and the fact that it was obviously being sold for consumption was even more preposterous.

The Seeker entered after me. He took one look at my faceplate, and instantly grew even more fidgety. I only became aware of my scowl of displeasure when he walked around, and started to bow in an apologetic manner.

"I'm very sorry, your Highness," He spoke quickly and fearfully, "I will clean up right away if you wish."

"…It's not that." I frowned, optics glancing back at the energon cube.

He followed my line of vision, and almost balked at the sight of the cube. His intakes gasped, and his helm whirled back to face me. His wings jerked unevenly, and he rushed to answer my unspoken question:

"Please don't misunderstand, your Highness! My bondmate and I would never give that to Sunstorm!" The Seeker looked horrified, "I only consume it because I'm not working right now, Sire, so being at optimal functionality is not a requirement."

That was not the problem, I wanted to add, but the door on the side wall slid open, and another Seeker came into view. He was about the same size as his orange and white bondmate, but he was much more compact, possessing quite an impressive wingspan. He was predominantly black with violet streaks, and his frame sported many scratches and scars. He had a limp, which caused him to wince every time he shuffled forward. He stopped once he could lean against the side of the opened door, and he took one look at me before lowering his optics and tilting forward into a small bow. Judging by the lack of surprise on his gray faceplate, his bondmate must have informed him of my arrival.

I did not share his lack of surprise.

Not only did he look like he had just stumbled out of a debris-filled acid rainstorm, he had a very large crack on one of his thrusters, which was what made him visibly limp. While he would not suffer extensively from such an injury, it was serious enough to prevent him from lengthy flying. I assumed that was why he was not out looking for Sunstorm as his orange bondmate was.

What kind of Seeker would willingly refrain from going to a medic to regain his ability of flight? I wondered to myself, and my optics returned to his faceplate, which was downturned. A scar ran across one of his cheek plates. When he noticed me staring at it, he turned minutely away so it was out of my view.

"Your Highness, this is Blazewing, Sunstorm's sire creator and my bondmate." The orange Seeker gestured toward his partner, and I abruptly remembered that I have not even bothered to inquire the orange Seeker for his designation. I felt embarrassed, but it would seem I did not need to ask. "My designation is Sunrift," He introduced himself in the next klik. "And we are most honoured to have you in our home, Prince Starscream."

"I am honoured to be here." I replied out of habit alone, but Blazewing and Sunrift shared a glance, and both of them smiled a little.

"Please, your Highness, have a seat," Sunrift gestured to the couch, "It's…not much, I'm afraid, but it's more comfortable than the chairs." He gave the couch a glance, and, noticing the data pads, quickly scurried over to scoop them up.

"There's no need for that, Sunrift," I waved his concern aside, careless of the possible insinuations of my action. Sunrift paused on his way, and he jolted a little, giving me a wide-opticked look. He hastily turned away when I looked in his direction, and his wings drooped as he nodded. I frowned, for a moment unable to understand his reaction. I did not figure it out until many awkward, silent kliks later, when I became a little flustered.

"I simply do not wish to trouble you," I hastily added. "Your home is…very nice."

Again, terribly thoughtless. I winced, and bit my lips. My wings twitched, and I silently cursed my blundering vocalizer. My words did not help my situation at all. They only made Sunrift's helm tilt downward even further in shame.

Silence hung over us as we avoided each other's optics. Even Sunstorm had become quiet, pressing himself against his carrier creator's canopy. Blazewing leaned against the wall, favouring his uninjured ped. Sunrift's wings continued to tremble, but he showed no other outward indication that he was troubled, if not hurt, by what I had said.

I pressed my lips together, and my hands curled into fists. I was annoyed with how carelessly I acted without processing the consequences of my behaviour. I was trying to be courteous, but the way in which I did so was awfully insensitive. Sunrift undoubtedly thought I believed myself too good for his humble couch, and that bothered me immensely, especially when the very reason they had so little to begin with was my own doing.

They were my fliers, who I was to do my utmost best to care for, yet this was what they were reduced to, mere shadows in face of the splendor which they rightfully deserved.

"…I'm…sorry." I spoke so quietly that I was afraid Sunrift and Blazewing would not hear me, but the stiffening in their frames told me they heard very clearly indeed. "…I'm…very sorry."

I apologized, but my words barely lingered in the thick air.

Blazewing was the first to move. He turned toward me, and, for the first time since he made an appearance, faced me directly, optics bright with confusion and surprise.

I tried to keep his gaze, but my gaze lowered, as did my helm.

"…You must be angry at me." My lips moved on their own accord, and my processors felt numb. "You must be…so angry at me." My helm drooped further, and I bit my dentae.

Sunrift should not have been the one to be ashamed.

"…It's just a couch, Sire," Blazewing replied after a lengthy moment of silence, and his voice was low, devoid of fluctuations.

My wings shivered.

"It's just a couch," Blazewing repeated, taking a step forward, and his voice suddenly gained a firm, determined edge, "which we are grateful to have."

My helm tilted minutely upward, and I tentatively looked at Blazewing, lips slightly parted.

"We are not angry at you, your Highness," The black and violet Seeker bowed a little. "You are our Crown Prince, whom we are grateful to have as well."

Upon hearing his words, my spark tightened painfully in my spark chamber, and I had to look away once again. I shakily raised my hands, and rubbed my faceplate, trying my best to ignore the throbbing sensations deep inside my chassis. I made a few uneven nods, and bit down hard on my lips. I had to wait several kliks before replying, just so my vocalizer would not catch in static.

"…Thank you." I whispered, still avoiding the optics of the little family unit whose lives I had stumbled into. I would have liked to say I crossed my arms, but in truth, I was hugging myself, suddenly feeling uncharacteristically shaken and vulnerable.

"It's us who should thank _you_, Prince Starscream," Sunrift spoke softly and gently, "You saved our sparkling."

My wings flicked, and my helm lifted.

Sunstorm…was still very much hurt, and he needed medical attention.

"You should take Sunstorm to the closest med bay right away," I straightened my back, and my wings fanned out, returning to their customary, proud position. "You should get yourself repaired as well, Blazewing." I turned to look at the black and violet Seeker as I spoke, and gave him a nod.

Blazewing shuffled on his peds, flinching as his movements agitated his injured thruster. "I—I'm afraid we…do not have enough credits for an immediate trip, Sire." I frowned, and he instantly added: "However, please rest assured that we will take Sunstorm to the med bay as soon as we acquire the necessary funds."

This time, I did cross my arms, and a familiar, displeased sneer curled my lips.

"Don't _insult_ me, Blazewing," I spoke curtly, voice sharp, "That was not a request. You _will_ accompany your mate in taking your sparkling to the closest med bay, and get your thruster fixed as well." The two immediately exchanged distressed looks, and I let out a loud, exasperated sigh. "Do you honestly think I'd personally order you to the med bay and make _you_ pay?" I snapped, the mere notion offensive enough to make my plating crawl. Blazewing and Sunrift both jumped, but they did not seem to notice, abruptly turning to gape at me with rounded optics.

I was beginning to feel extremely uncomfortable with their shocked staring when Sunrift finally shook himself out of the stupor, and spluttered.

"B-But—I—…We-We cannot possibly—"

"I did not make that a request, Sunrift." I narrowed my optics, and pursed my lips.

"B-But—"

"Are you challenging a direct order from your ruling sovereign, Seeker?" I raised my voice to a higher pitch, and Sunrift instantly shrunk away, shaking his helm animatedly. Sunstorm chose that moment to let out a pained whimper, and I took it as a sign that he would very much appreciate a medic's presence at the moment.

While Sunrift and Blazewing exchanged more glances, undoubtedly talking to each other through their bond, I accessed the Vosian communications system, and quickly found a med bay close to my current location. After contacting the medic and making all necessary arrangements, I turned back to the family unit, and had to make a cough with my vocalizer to catch their attention.

"Everything has been taken care of. Go to this med bay upon my departure," I gave both of them a data burst of the coordinates. "If I do not receive a report from the medic at the end of this cycle regarding your repairs, I will not be pleased, and I can assure you that nothing good ever results from me not being pleased. Is that clear?"

Sunrift and Blazewing exchanged another look, as though incapable of comprehending what had just happened. Irritated with their lack of reaction, I scowled, and briskly swirled around on my heels, pointedly stomping toward the door.

"W-Wait!" Sunrift's voice reached me, and I felt a light touch on the top edge of my right wing. I instantly froze, my wing making a small jerk. I heard Blazewing taking in a surprised gasp, and, with a startled voice, asking his bondmate what he thought he was doing. Sunrift ignored Blazewing's inquiry, and his fingers glided along the top edge of my wing, coming to a stop at my wing joint. His thumb gave my wing joint a gentle rub, and my intakes hitched.

"Thank you, your Highness." He whispered, and his hand briefly lingered on my wing before falling away. "Thank you."

I could not move, or reply. The sensors in my right wing still tingled from the warmth of his touch. No citizen of mine had dared to touch me without permission for vorns, and to do so in order to express gratitude inexpressible by words…

I did not know why, but it made me feel exceptionally young and inexperienced.

Ignoring the wild fluttering of my spark, I stiffly nodded, and waited for Sunrift to open the door. It slid apart, and I walked onto the takeoff deck slowly and awkwardly, still rather stunned by what Sunrift had just done. Without another word, I transformed, and took off, accelerating to full speed with my nosecone pointed skyward. I emerged from the dark shadows of my city's foundations, and returned to the bright magnificence of Vos's high towers.

I had never felt more comforted by the familiar brilliance of my city.

I slowed down, and flew around aimlessly, processors still reeling from my encounter with Sunstorm and his family unit. It was not until I received a ping from my personal comm.-line did I remember about my scheduled meeting with Ramjet. Checking my internal chronometer, I cursed silently, and hurriedly opened his request.

:_Prince Starscream._:

As usual, Ramjet did not wait for me to address him first. If I were in base mode, I would have scowled. There were rules of proper etiquette to be followed when in my presence, and that arrogant slagger never paid heed to any of them. I was lenient toward those close to me, but this stupid Conehead was certainly not of those selected few.

:_There's still half a breem until our meeting is scheduled to commence, Ramjet._: I bit out snappishly, letting known the full extend of my annoyance toward him as I abruptly flipped in the air and sped back to my tower.

:_I know._: His rough voice replied, :_I just wanted to make sure you aren't going to be late._:

Anger flared in my spark, and I almost lashed out at him. I almost did, until a most ingenious idea suddenly popped into my processors.

I felt the urge to smile.

:_…I'm _not_ going to be late, Ramjet._: I lowered my voice to a smooth purr, and slowed down to a full stop before transforming back into root mode, hovering in the air with a pleased smirk on my faceplate. :_You, on the other hand, are in the danger of being so if you don't start making your way to my current location right at this klik._:

:_…What are you talking about?_: Ramjet's voice gained an edge, and I quietly chuckled. If there was anything military mechs hated, it was unpunctuality, and the Conehead was certainly not exempt from that generalization.

:_Nothing,_: I answered airily, voice in a playful lilt, :_Just that the location of our meeting has changed._:

:_What?_: He snapped back peevishly, :_Since when?_:

:_Since now,_: I sent him a data burst of my coordinates, and bit back a giggle, lips pulled back in a large grin, :_which is why you should really make haste, my dear General. After all, I wouldn't want you to be late._: Without warning, I cut off our connection, and snickered gleefully. Infinitely pleased that Ramjet was definitely swearing up a storm at the moment as he raced toward the nearest takeoff deck, I floated in the air in lazy circles, and kept a keen audial for the sound of his thrusters.

When our scheduled time arrived and I still heard no Conehead Seeker, I laughed. That would teach the insolent idiot to not cross me again.

A few kliks passed, and another alert popped up on my HUD. I activated my comm.-link with a satisfied smirk, and was prepared to hear an angry albeit amusing rant from my Conehead general. However, instead of Ramjet, Nightfire came through.

:_Prince Starscream,_: He addressed me respectfully, but he sounded shaken and distressed, voice wavering and much darker in timber than usual. It was both confusing and alarming to hear.

:_Nightfire?_: I did not know how to interpret the tone of his voice, so I quickly inquired, :_What is it?_:

:_It's—It's Firechaser, your Highness._: His words quietened to a whisper, which violently shivered toward the end. He stuttered as he tried to continue his explanation, and let out a hiss of a curse word when he could not. I realized with a start that he was trying to keep his emotions in check, and was possibly failing.

:_What is it? What about Firechaser?_: I asked, worry rising rapidly. :_Was he found?_: A thought raced across my processors, and dread began to poison my spark. I feared for the worst, and Nightfire's quiet answer did not help settle the increasing turbulence inside my spark chamber.

:_Affirmative,_: He only said, and promptly became silent.

:_…Well? Where was he found?_: My voice rose to a whole new pitch as I grew incredibly annoyed at the lack of a clear answer from the usually eloquent and straightforward Space Shuttle. His behaviour was downright odd, and it was starting to agitate me. :_Nightfire, answer me!_:

:_I-I apologize, your Highness,_: Nightfire took a cycle of air, :_Firechaser was not…exactly found, Sire. I think—I think it'd be best for you to return to your tower as soon as possible. The situation is far more complicated than anticipated._:

Something in the way he spoke made my spark grow cold, and my wings quivered.

:_…Tell me what happened, Nightfire. I don't like surprises._: My hands curled into fists, and I clenched my jaw joints.

:_Your Highness—…I think—_:

:-_Just _tell me_, Nightfire!_:

Nightfire was silent for a long moment, and not a single sound came from his end of the connection. Every joint in my frame was pulled tight, and I waited, fuel pump thumping loudly inside my chassis while my spark squeezed into a small, nervous ball.

:_…Firechaser…is unwell, Sire._: When Nightfire finally relented to my will, he was ominously quiet, and his vocalizer was hitching with static.

:_How so?_: I pressed on.

:_H-He's—…I—_: Nightfire bit back a strangled noise that sounded suspiciously like a sob, and my wings instantly jerked completely upright on my back, joints stiff with tension. :…_I think-I think you should return quickly, Sire._:

:_Just tell me what happened, Nightfire._: My voice was much firmer than how I felt, and I fought to remain patient with his stuttering.

:_I—…I can't—…It's-It's—…I—_: Nightfire abruptly stopped, and when he resumed speech, his voice shook even harder than before. :_Please, Sire, just come back._:

I growled, and a sharp surge of anger erupted from my spark, making my wings jolt spastically.

:_Primus-damnit, Nightfire! I don't have the time for this! Just answer my question already!_:

:_Please, your Majesty, allow me some time to calm myself first!_: Nightfire's voice sounded strained, :_I—I contacted you as soon as it happened—…I-I will report to you once you—_:

I bit back a hiss, impatience gnawing at my spark.

:_What is this "_it_", Nightfire? I don't know what you're referring to!_:

:_It—It's this-this current situation—_:

:-_Oh for Primus's sakes, what's the current situation!_: I pushed on, frustrated to my limit and voice rising to a shout.

:_—I-I don't know!_: He cried out, and I had never heard him so hysterical. :_I don't know what had happened! I don't know anything at this point, Sire, so just-just—…_please_, Sire, just…—Oh Primus! Oh Primus! His wings! His _wings_!_: Horror overcame his voice, and it abruptly cut to silence. A shiver prickled over my back-strut, and I was stricken by how utterly frantic Nightfire sounded.

:_…I'm on my way._: I hastily ended the comm., and forcefully quelled down the sudden nausea in my fuel tank. If what had happened to Firechaser was terrible enough to make a flier as collected as Nightfire suffer a breakdown, it was definitely dire enough to require my immediate attention.

I turned to the direction of my tower, and was half a klik from transforming when my visual field was abruptly overtaken by a black nosecone shooting toward me. I did not even have the time to realize what was happening when a Seeker jet suddenly appeared, and quite literally rammed into my frame.

I shrieked in fright and dismay, scrambling and stumbling in the air. Thankfully, the jet had slowed down enough to not cause me any damage upon impact, and had slammed into me with its belly instead of its nosecone. However, such detail hardly made its sudden appearance any less startling. I screeched and punched at the Seeker jet, pausing only when it started to transform. White shoulders formed, followed black arms that reached around me. To my own surprise, I screamed even louder.

"Sweet Primus, you can make a weapon out of that vocalizer of yours." Ramjet's half grimacing, half smirking faceplate appeared, and I almost blew a circuit from rage.

"You glitching fragger!" I tried to grab at his faceplate, but he chose that moment to tighten his arms, and pressed our frames cockpit to cockpit. I was immediately more concerned about how intimate our position was, and started pushing at his chassis. "What the frag is the matter with you!"

"What the frag is the matter with _me_? I came here on your command!" He pretended to scowl, but his optics were glittering too brightly with amusement for his expression to be entirely genuine.

"I didn't command you to ram me, you idiot! How slagged in the processors are you?" I yelled right into his faceplate, and kicked at his legs, struggling to get out of his grip. However, much to my embarrassment, he appeared to be only mildly bothered by my attacks despite my best efforts. While I knew I could do very little in terms of combat at this proximity, it still made me extremely fragged off that Ramjet looked like he was merely trying to restrain a rebelling youngling. "Let go of me!" I continued to thrash, and almost had a complete system meltdown when I felt one of his hands daring to slide downward, and cup around my aft.

"Why should I?" He murmured, "I'm rather liking our current position, your Highness." His black faceplate split into a wide grin, and his hand made a grope.

"You—You—…!" I was so furious that I could barely speak in an intelligible manner. In the end, I settled for a cry of explosive fury, and grappled for his faceplate with the intention of tearing out an optic or two.

"Settle down!" He growled, tilting his helm away to avoid my fingers. When I did not desist, his hand let go of my aft, and gave it a loud, stinging slap.

I was so shocked that I instantly froze still, and stared at him with optics widened and lips apart.

As if in mockery of an apology, he rubbed the sore plating of my rear, and smirked, leaning forward to nudge the tip of my nose-bridge with his own.

"That's much better," He chuckled, "I've always wanted to do that." His optics shimmered with hilarity, and his smirk grew into a cheeky grin. However, mirth was obviously not the only expression apparent on his faceplate.

Ramjet had been after the vacant spot of my intended bondmate for the past two vorns. No one really knew why he wanted to pursue such position. He seemed to have simply gotten up one cycle, and promptly decided that he wanted to be the next Royal Consort. The only reason I tolerated his advances was because, despite his insufferable arrogance and ever-expanding ego, he was, by Vosian standards, a very suitable candidate. He was one of the fastest Seekers, and a General. He was sturdier than me, which meant that, if we were to become bondmates, our sparkling would have stronger plating, since mine was soft and thin to the extent of becoming a possible vulnerability. Despite his sheer recklessness, he was actually very intelligent, accomplishing whatever that had to be done with unyielding precision.

However, there was one main problem with his courtship:

He always chose the most inconvenient of moments.

…Not to mention I just plainly disliked him.

"Your level of insolence is starting to scare me, Ramjet…" I practically whispered, gaping up at him before finally snapping myself out of my shock. I shook my helm to dispel the stupor, and scowled, wiggling and pushing against his arms. "Now, let go of me! That's an order, soldier! …I need to fly back to my tower!"

"Your tower?" Ramjet frowned in confusion, and, thankfully, let go with minor reluctance. "But I thought—"

"-While it truly pains me to do this, my dearest general, our meeting of utmost importance has to be unfortunately postponed," Sarcasm dripped from my drawling words, and I sneered at him, glaring into his optics. "Something has come up in my tower, and it requires my immediate attention."

"What in the pits, Starscream? I just came from your tower and nothing was happening!" He crossed his arms over his chassis, and made a face.

"That's enough!" I bit out, wings twitching in irritation. "You _will_ treat me properly as your monarch, Ramjet, and that is a direct order. This is your last warning before I throw you into the confinement rooms!"

Sometimes the only reason I bore with his spontaneous bouts of disrespect was the fact that he was the only flier who had made any indication of wanting to be my bondmate. I knew I was hard to get along with, and Ramjet seemed to be the only mech who frankly did not give two slag about it. I doubted he actually liked me though, since he did not care at all that I spent more alone time with Nightfire than him. He was obviously only initiating because we were a good match, and, luckily for him, I happened to have a nice aft to look at.

"Of course, my liege," He released a short burst of air through his vents, but he placed his hand over his spark, and bowed low as he should.

"Good," I snapped out, hands propping up on my hips. "Now, I have some actual important matters to attend to. You may tag along. I have suspicion that it might develop into a situation that will require military participation."

All traces of previous mischievousness immediately left Ramjet's faceplate altogether. He frowned, and a serious glint appeared his optics.

"Do you really think military participation will become necessary, Sire?" The sudden entrance of formalities made me pause. I looked back at Ramjet's abruptly humourless expression, and felt a weighty pressure begin to shroud over my spark. I sighed through my vents, and my wings sagged a little on my back.

"From what I'm aware of thus far, there's a great possibility that a citizen of Vos has been severely injured. If he had been attacked—…" I trailed off, and pursed my lips. "…At this point, I really don't know what will happen."

Without waiting for a response from Ramjet, I turned away, and transformed, taking off toward my tower at full speed. I could hear my Conehead General behind me, keeping up as well as he could.

As we made our way back to my tower, I could not shake off the feeling of dread, or the tension in my wings. Megatron's words from my most recent trip to Kaon kept resurfacing in my processors, playing in a reoccurring loop:

"_The Autobots have plans for you and your fliers, Starscream. It'd be a shame to see them succeed."_

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><p><strong>Notes:<strong> Phew! Finished editing this in two days – hopefully I haven't missed anything!

I apologize for the lack of Megatron in this chapter. I'd forgotten to inform you about that during the last update. However, he will be back in the next chapter. The reason he isn't appearing as much is that the story is still in its developmental stage, so please bear with me for now. He'll be appearing tons in the future – that I promise you.

It's special thanks time once again! Big shout-outs to my reviewers (the sweetest people one can ever hope to hear from): _Devlinn Reiko_, _Laura_, _Alderrin_, _Keenon_, _The Happy Shark_, _Hedgie-Chan_, _Koluno1986_, _Krazed Jetformer_, _tiedwithribbons_, _trixxybaby95_, _ChaosGarden_, _Riley_, _Ashcola17_, _rj545_, _PwnKage_, _gaarasgrl19_, and _Wol Lo_. I appreciate your comments greatly, and look forward to hearing from you every time :))

Now, another message for anon. reviewer _Riley_! You have no idea how flustered (in the happiest ways) I get whenever I read your reviews. I am, in fact, very excited and anxious for you to have an account on FF just so I can message you, haha! I really hope your internet troubles will be resolved soon (Primus knows I can't survive without the internet, so I can't imagine what you're going through), and of course I will read your stories! I look forward to finally getting the chance to chat with you very much :D

I'd usually take a paragraph or two to discuss what's happened in the chapter, but I'm simply too brain-dead to think of anything witty or interesting to say. I'd love to hear what you guys come up with in regards to what's happened, though, so please, drop me a few lines.

What did you think of Starscream's trip to the deep levels? What did you think of Ramjet? What are your guesses on what had happened to Firechaser?

I'd love to hear your thoughts, so a review would be fantastic :)

ps: Add me on facebook for alerts on updates and such! The link is available on my profile page.


	8. IX

Disclaimer: Do not own much.

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><p>IX<p>

As soon as I landed on the topmost flight deck of my tower and entered the threshold, I spotted Thundercracker down the corridor, pacing about anxiously. He turned when he heard Ramjet and I walking toward him, and rushed forward to meet us halfway.

Glancing at Ramjet, my blue trine mate nodded respectfully. However, he made no address, prompted to haste as he was by the urgency of the situation.

"What happened?" I asked as soon as he became within auditory range.

"A few breems ago, Skywarp returned to Vos with Firechaser in tow," Thundercracker explained, and I felt my optics widen. "They teleported straight into the Grand Hall, and Nightfire was contacted immediately upon their appearance."

Thundercracker's wings were trembling, much like his lips. His optics were brighter than usual, and his brow ridges furrowed into a shaky frown. However, I barely took notice. Shock made my processors stall, followed by the question of why Skywarp of all mechs was with Firechaser. Thundercracker looked like he wanted to say more, but I cut in, shaking my helm in disbelief:

"How did—How did Skywarp find Firechaser?"

"I don't know," His optics flickered away, and stared forward intently as if to avoid meeting my inquiring gaze. "…Should we…make our way to meet Nightfire in the med bay?" He asked, evading my question. "I don't know the details of the situation, but I'll tell you what I know along the way."

I nodded, and immediately led the way to the med bay. Thundercracker, out of habit, flanked my right wing, while Ramjet took my vacant left.

"Speak," I ordered when Thundercracker did not start his explanation right away. I was rather annoyed that he would follow rigid protocol at a time like this. "Hurry."

"I was informed of the current situation by Skywarp. He comm.-ed me after his arrival at the Grand Hall," Thundercracker began, and took in a wavering cycle of air through his intakes. "I'm not sure why he was with Firechaser. He refused to talk to anyone, saying he will only speak to you directly."

"Where is he?" I asked tersely, irritated by all the mystery shrouding the answers to my questions.

"In our common quarters," Thundercracker replied, but a private comm. over our trine link reached me at the same time as his outspoken words. :_He's in his usual confinement room by your order of arrest, Starscream._:

I winced, and felt like spitting out curse words. I had completely forgotten that there was still an arrest order placed over Skywarp's helm. I was surprised my purple trine mate did not simply teleport away before the guards could reach him. From the way Thundercracker sounded over our trine link, I could tell he was frustrated with me for not lifting the arrest. However, I was glad he chose to be discreet. Our trine's quarrel and Skywarp's escape were a secret to most fliers, which included Ramjet.

"I'll find him as soon as I have a grasp of what's happened with Firechaser," I responded aloud as we turned a corner. "What's Firechaser's current status?"

Thundercracker did not answer immediately. I glanced back, and saw him biting his lips, optics downcast.

"TC?" I urged him, and he almost startled.

"Firechaser…is in critical condition, currently under intensive repair," Thundercracker ran another cycle of air through his system. "He was unconscious when he was brought in. From what I could see before he was carried off, he suffered many severe injuries, many of which…looked very odd."

"Odd?" Ramjet echoed, as confused as I was.

"..Affirmative," Thundercracker paused, and grimaced as he sought for the right words to describe what he had seen. "I don't know what to make of them, Sire. They were—…They covered his frame, and many of them…were directly inflicted to his inner circuitry."

"What do you mean?" I asked, unable to comprehend what Thundercracker was suggesting.

"Well…in some cases, his plating was cleanly removed." Thundercracker almost tripped on the stairs in his haste to match my light steps as we descended a level. "And everything looked very _precise_, Starscream…" His deep voice quietened, and became a low whisper, "I—…I really don't know what to make of them. I'm no expert in injury inspection, but it looked as though his injuries were—…" He trailed off for a moment, and his vents spluttered in a sigh. "…His injuries…looked _surgical_, your Highness…"

My hands clenched into tight fists by my sides, and I clenched my jaws, optics staring determinedly ahead of me.

"…I've never seen anything like it, Star…" My blue trine mate carried on to elaborate, and his usually calm and smooth voice shook much like Nightfire's when I received the Space Shuttle's comm.. "Many of Firechaser's medical ports had their cover panels severed off, and there was strange residue in most of them. His helm plating…was barely there." Thundercracker shuddered beside me, "…I could see into his processor units…"

I heard my trine mate take another heavy cycle of air through his system, and felt like doing the same. My spark was strumming rather erratically in my spark chamber, and I had to forcefully quell down its flaring wave of dread and unease. This was no time to submit to the whims of one's spark. I needed clear processors to assess the situation.

Turning a final corner, we reached the wide hallway leading to the med bay. Just before entering its doors, I stopped. There was one more thing I needed to know.

"…What of his wings, Thundercracker?" I did not particularly want to know, but based on how Nightfire had reacted to the sight of them, I reasoned it was a good idea to be prepared before seeing the damage myself. Besides, such clues could be vital in determining the nature of the attack – that was how my logic circuits justified my increasing nervousness, at least.

Almost instantly, Thundercracker averted his gaze, and he bit his lips so hard I was worried he might draw energon. His wings made harsh jerks on his back, and his intakes hitched with a forceful inhale of air.

"…His wings…" My blue trine mate's voice was hushed, and I felt waves of pain from his spark over our trine bond. "…His wings…were—…" He could not continue, and abruptly turned away, offlining his optics. His hands rose shakily, and he rubbed his faceplate as he tried to gather himself.

"…I'm no medic, Star," He finally managed to croak out, "…but I don't know if Firechaser will be able to fly again…"

His choked, whispered answer hit me straight in the spark. I felt an almost physical impact, as though I had been stabbed in the spark chamber. My lips fell slightly apart, and I involuntarily gasped, freezing still and silent for several kliks.

"H-How's that…_possible_?" I stuttered, and shook my helm in disbelief. "…Fliers can have their wings reattached, for Primus's sakes! And what can possibly be worse than having your wings torn off?" My voice rose in pitch, and my fists tightened further.

Thundercracker visibly flinched, and he soundly took a few more cycles of air. He never met my gaze even as he fought to straighten his somewhat slouched posture, and glanced around distractedly. "…Perhaps I'm—overreacting. I apologize." He looked at the doors to the med bay, and gave them a weak, tentative wave. "We should go in, Star. Nightfire's already inside, and he can use some support."

I stared at my trine mate for a lengthy moment longer before I relented with a nod, and slowly turned toward the doors. I reached for the keypad, and tapped against the buttons, feeling as though I was half in recharge, or submerged in a strange hallucination. The doors slid open with a swift "whoosh" that effectively made me start, and, the next instance after, I was greeted by the sight that would forever change the fate of my city, and of those who inhabited it.

Thundercracker was honest in his assessment of Firechaser's status, but there was much he decided to leave out. I immediately understood why as I stood at the entrance of the med bay, gaping in horror. There were no words that could adequately describe the amount of excruciation Firechaser had gone through, practically leaving his frame a twisted corpse of remains. The scent of energon and chemicals was strong. It was a wafting wave that eroded out of the med bay as soon as its doors parted, and engulfed my company and me with its thick, tangy fume.

The sight was perverse, and I immediately wanted to run away, spark reeling in horror too strong to withstand. However, my peds remained rooted to the floor, and my optics were glued to Firechaser's frame, unable to turn away.

Many of Firechaser's medical ports were naked, lying exposed for all to see. The very few that remained unseen were only covered due to the cables plugged into them, monitoring his systems and health status. My tank gave a painful churn when I realized that some of his ports could not even be used anymore, blackened and charred from repeated forceful entry. The machines meant to connect to those ports were silent and cold, and their cables dangled by their sides, limp and unmoving.

Much of Firechaser's plating was blatantly missing. With no small amount of dread and disgust, I realized that the little he had on was not originally his at all. They were a dull, protoform gray, too thick and dense to have naturally belonged to him, a Seeker. His motor cables, fuel lines, and many other patchworks of inner circuitry lay unprotected, crisscrossed by various lacerations. Some of his inner components were sliced apart, dissected, and were currently being repaired by the nimble fingers of medics. Some had to be taken out completely, and were in the process of being replaced, no longer functional due to the deeper wounds.

Firechaser's entire chassis was open on display, and I had to tenaciously bite back a wave of nausea that threatened to upturn my tank when I saw just how much internal damage he had sustained. Many of his vital components were drenched in an unidentified, liquidy substance, and the medics were draining it from his insides. It made revolting, squelching noises, partly splattering in half-dried, slimy chunks and partly splashing like diluted coolant. Its smell was _foul_, and even with my extensive scientific knowledge, I could not place on it a designation.

Unable to stand the sight of Firechaser's chassis any longer, I glanced away, and my optics landed on his helm. Just as Thundercracker had informed me, much of his plating was gone, revealing his central operating system. There was a medic working on his processor units, and, for a long moment, I could not figure out just what he was doing. Upon closer inspection, I realized that the medic was sealing closed tiny, inward incisions. Their implication was overwhelming – whoever did this to Firechaser was forcing cables into his processors. I averted my optics. I could no longer watch the medic fix such invasive damage. I was beginning to feel faint, and quickly turned my attention elsewhere.

To his wings.

I saw his wings, and my spark almost extinguished from the horrification that squeezed the essence of my being in a tightening grasp.

His wings…remained on his back, but they were barely so, tilting at an awkward angle. Due to his position, I could not tell how much of his wing joints were still in tact, but I knew they were close to being ripped clean off, possibly dangling by mere cables. However, even such terrible fact was not the cause of my dismay. It was the apparentness of numerous past removals and replacements of his wing plating. The different shades of gray did not match, and if the glimpses of delicate flight systems peaking through were any indication, Firechaser had endured multiple wing injuries as well, repeatedly.

My entire frame began to shake. Sheer fury and fear shot through my system, and fought for dominance in my spark.

The wings of a flier were his life, his freedom, his very spark.

To see the pride of my kin so brutally mutilated was…an agony quite unlike anything I have felt before…

…Firechaser's wings…were torn. Scorch marks accompanied every gaping, weeping wound, implicating that they were inflicted by weapons. However, this was obviously not the first time Firechaser had received these injuries. His wings, after being practically destroyed by gunfire, had been grotesquely repaired, only to be placed through the same torment over and over again. There was no care or comfort in the patch-jobs, only that they returned flight to my Seeker, just so his tormentors could once again take it away.

I then understood why Nightfire had cried. This was not an attack, but deliberate, carefully orchestrated torture, one Firechaser had been callously put through in succession.

How terrified he must have been? How much pain he must have suffered through? How much terror? How much despair…and hopelessness?

Firechaser was so young, so naive…a Seeker with such a bright, promising future. His wings always flicked up and down in happiness when he did his experiments, and his optics had shone so vibrantly when I presented him the medal in congratulation and recognition of his many achievements.

My wings began to tremble, and I stiffly turned away, tearing my gaze from the mutilated frame of the young flier. My optics, in their attempts to remain distracted, caught sight of Nightfire, who was seated at the edge of the med bay. The black Space Shuttle held his helm in his hands, and his faceplate was hidden in the shadows that covered his folded form. His wings shook violently, the most visible of tremouring in his frame, and he made no sound, at least none that could be heard over the busy tinkering of the medics. I wondered if he had contacted Firechaser's creators about the current situation yet, and almost winced when my spark gave a responding jolt of hurt. How was Nightfire supposed to inform them that their creation, a Seeker they would always see as a vulnerable, most cherished sparkling, had been continuously tortured to the brink of deactivation only to be brought back and placed under the same torment all over again?

I slowly made my way toward Nightfire's hunched over form, and carefully rested a hand on the top edge of his right wing. He immediately flinched, and his wing joints stiffened. His helm jerked in my direction, and he almost looked up at me. However, he only froze, and his intakes made an audible, sharp hitch.

"It's just me, Nightfire," I spoke softly, and gently rubbed his wing until he finally seemed to have relaxed by a minute degree. His shaking resumed, and he released a deep sigh through his vents, helm lowering further. His shoulders shivered, and, for a few kliks, he kept his silence. A long moment passed, and he finally straightened a little, and tiredly rubbed his faceplate before turning toward me.

"You Highness," He greeted in a voice barely above a whisper, and made a small bow. His faceplate was inclined in my direction, but his optics remained downcast, brimmed by lingering moisture. His cheek plates glistened where he had failed to hastily wipe the tear tracks clean, and his lips quivered as he parted them to speak further, but he could not. The silence stretched a little too long, and he hurriedly turned away with a jerky tilt of his helm. He remained speechless, and fought to stop the uneven hitching of his intakes.

I bit my lips, and reached for his other wing, fingers carefully stroking his flight sensors. The gesture was extremely intimate for a Seeker, usually only used within the trine. However, Nightfire was a Space Shuttle. He had no trine, and consequently had no trine mates to offer such comfort and support. I figured he would greatly appreciate both sentiments at the moment, and I highly doubted my trine mates would mind.

"…We _will_ find out who had committed such a crime to Firechaser, Nightfire," I promised, tone soothing but optics narrowing in determination, "and they will pay dearly."

Nightfire did not reply. He only nodded, and returned to hiding his faceplate behind his hands.

"…Firechaser is a strong Seeker. He will pull through." I did not know what else to say, looking over Nightfire's defeated, grief-stricken form. "If he's braved through everything until now, he will undoubtedly make a full recovery." I spoke with certainty, and gave the Nightfire a small, reassuring squeeze on a wing. "Believe in him," I instructed, and hoped my words would encourage the Space Shuttle. However, he only shrank further into himself, and furled his limbs as though to physically protect himself from the pain.

"…A full recovery is what I'm worried about, Sire," He whispered, and his frame tensed. "How do we help him after all visible injuries have healed?"

I pressed my lips together, and looked away to the far wall. I had nothing to say. I had no answer. There was nothing I could do to help Firechaser beyond making sure he received the best medical care in Vos.

I could send in the medics. I could dispatch my soldiers. I could capture the culprit, and place him under the worst torture imaginable for vorns as punishment for his hideous actions.

I could _destroy_ the mech responsible for such depravity, but, in reality…what good would that do?

I lowered my helm.

Nothing I could do would bring back Firechaser's innocence.

I moved my hand to Nightfire's wing joints, and tried to ease their tension. The gesture did not quite work, but the trembling in Nightfire's wings had lessened. I could not imagine what the future meant for Nightfire and Firechaser. The amount of trauma Firechaser's spark bore was overwhelming to think about, and Nightfire and his family unit were the only ones who could attempt to gather the pieces.

"…I'll _kill_ him…the one who did this to Firechaser." Ramjet's voice, bitten back and low with dark, suppressed anger, cut through the sound of tinkering medical tools, "I'll tear out his spark with my bare hands!" Nightfire's wings immediately hiked up higher on his back upon hearing those words, and I had to physically restrain myself from lashing out at the Conehead.

As much as I agreed with Ramjet's sentiments, he had just undone all my efforts at trying to calm Nightfire down.

"Now's not the time, you fool!" I glared at the white and black Seeker, voice kept low only to not startle the medics, "If you really want to help, come sit by Nightfire."

Ramjet did not meet my optics, still unable to look away from the sight of Firechaser's mangled body. It took several kliks for him to finally reign in his raging emotions, and contain his fury to a heated simmer. Casting Firechaser one last, pain-filled glance, he turned on his peds, and walked toward Nightfire and me. He plopped down on the other side of the Space Shuttle, and gave his shoulder a pat and a firm squeeze.

"Rub his wings," I instructed with a small jerk of my chin, "I need to speak with Skywarp, so I'm entrusting Nightfire's wellbeing to you. If he needs anything, you are to bring it to him."

Ramjet's optics widened, and he suddenly grew flustered.

"…D-Do I have to rub his wings?" He looked awkwardly embarrassed, and I wanted to swat his helm.

"_Yes_, you dolt! He has no trine mates, and this situation is too sensitive to be let known to his family unit yet, which means he has no one to be here with him and keep him company!" I hissed, annoyed by Ramjet's childishness. "Rub his wings and rub them good, got it?" I ordered snappishly, and leveled him with a firm glare.

"Affirmative, your Princeship…" Ramjet grumbled, but he cast a look of concern toward Nightfire's faceplate. Reaching over, he replaced my fingers with a palm, and started to rub circles.

Reassured for the time being, I cycled air through my intakes, and turned away. Catching Thundercracker's attention with a small flick of a wing, we left the med bay, and headed for the confinement chambers. Thundercracker looked very relieved to be leaving, and I could not find it in my spark to blame him. After all, the atmosphere in the med bay was downright suffocating, and the amount of pain weighing down the air would make any flier's spark shrink within his spark chamber. Besides, – I cast my blue trine mate a worried glance – Thundercracker was too sensitive a flier to be faced with such a sight for long.

"Has Skywarp mentioned anything to you?" Now that Ramjet was no longer with us, I asked verbally, and broke the tense silence.

"I think he wanted to," Thundercracker replied, sounding somewhat breathy, "but I…I couldn't…" He shook his helm, and looked away. "I was in too much shock to handle anything else aside from getting Firechaser to the med bay."

I nodded, and did not further my questioning. The rest of our journey was without words, silent until we reached the gates leading to the confinement rooms. Halting our steps, I turned to my blue trine mate, and carefully reached around him, gently wrapping my hands around the bottom edges of his wings. His intakes hitched in a deep breath of air, and his optics flickered offline when I slid my thumbs over his flight sensors. He leaned down, touching the fronts of our helms together, and released a deep, shuddering sigh through his vents.

"…I'm just overwhelmed…" His voice was so soft that I could hardly believe it had come from his deep, rumbling vocalizer. "I fear…that this is much bigger than I can understand at once." His optics brightened in a flash, but they quickly dimmed as he gazed at me, faceplate overcome by dark shadows of worry. "Firechaser's injuries are far too calculated for his aggressor to have simply been a deranged ground pounder."

I froze.

Thundercracker had voiced my exact thoughts, thoughts that I was not ready to face just yet.

"…What's going to happen, Star?" He asked, and his words held an imploring note. "What if…What if this is the beginning of something much _more_ than anything we've had to encounter? No citizen of Vos had been actively harmed since the beginning of the Golden Age. What could this mean for us?"

I immediately lowered my optics, and pressed my lips tightly together. I did not trust my vocalizer to speak, and I did not want to see the emotions plaguing my own spark mirrored in my blue trine mate's optics.

Thundercracker slowly lifted his hands, and they were shaking as he placed them on my hips. The action surprised me a little, as it was too intimate even for those within a trine. I felt slightly uncomfortable, not used to Thundercracker of all mechs to initiate such an assertive gesture. However, all it took was a glance at his averted optics for me to understand that he was simply far too troubled to care about such trivialities. He needed an anchor, so he took what he needed, and, with a small start, I realized that perhaps he was not as meek as I had always believed him to be.

"I'm afraid of what I might hear in there, Star," He continued to speak when I did not answer, and his optics stared at the closed gates leading to the confinement rooms as though he could see past them. "The fate of many may change depending on what Skywarp tells us within the next few breems…"

The statement hung in the air like an ominous warning, and I fought back a shiver. I did not like how quickly my blue trine mate was buckling under the pressure, so I gave his wings a tiny squeeze to gain his attention, and he instantly looked back at me.

"You're getting ahead of yourself, Thundercracker," I kept my voice as even and smooth as possible, trying to offer him, through my words, more strength than I felt. "You always get ahead of yourself, worrying over things you don't yet know anything about." He immediately started to look ashamed, so I hastily gave him a small smile. Though it shook, it seemed to have lifted some of the shadows darkening his faceplate. "You're thinking too much, TC. Don't." I held his wings firmly in my hands, "I need my sensible trine mate to stop me from reacting impulsively to what I might hear in there."

He gazed back at me for a few moments longer, and, finally, his expression softened into a small smile. He nodded at me, and I nodded back before pulling away from his loose embrace. Turning to the gates, I entered the pass-code, and took a cycle of air before leading us through. Right away, the guards greeted us, and one of them offered to show us the way to Skywarp's room. It was a purely customary gesture. My purple trine mate has always had a knack for trouble, and I could confidently say that he was the only Seeker in Vos who could boast of having a confinement room designated as his own.

As the guard took us to see Skywarp, I discreetly glanced at Thundercracker from the corners of my optics. He stared intently ahead, and hence did not notice my looking. He had no idea how truthful I was being when I told him that I needed his sensibilities. I could not afford to lose him to his emotions at a time like this, because, as much as I hated to admit it, I was faring far worse than what my facade suggested.

Firechaser's sudden return brought up many questions, but it was not the questions I could not handle. The sight of his wounds and their implications made my spark quiver deep inside my chassis, and they clouded my processors with a dizzyingly wide array of emotions. The fact that Nightfire, one of the main pillars on which I rely, had already crumbled greatly affected me. Nightfire's ability to analyze all situations with a critical and objective optic was one of the main reasons I greatly valued him as an advisor. Ever since my return from the space expedition, all of my major decisions in regards to Vos as a whole had been made based on his advice. I did not feel the pressure of my position often, but this would be an instance where I was very aware of every single ounce of its weight, and it was heavy, incredibly heavy.

The guard entered the pass-code to the door of Skywarp's room, and it slid open after a small beep. Skywarp instantly came into view, and his helm snapped up in attention. He was seated on the berth connected to the back wall of the confinement chamber, hands clasped together in front of him and elbows on his knees. His optics briefly met mine before fleeting to Thundercracker's, and he had never looked so relieved in all my vorns of knowing him.

"Oh thank Primus the two of you are here!" He exclaimed, vents making a loud, hissy sigh, "You have no idea how much I need to be with you right now." The stark honesty in his voice caused a small trickle of fear to invade my spark, so I walked in slowly, merely watching as Thundercracker rushed forward, and instantly embraced our purple trine mate into his arms. Skywarp's wings were shaking even while Thundercracker rubbed calming circles. Whatever it was that had Skywarp spooked to such a degree was definitely bad news for the situation.

I silently motioned the guard to close the door and wait outside. Walking toward my trine mates, I joined them in sitting on the berth, and shuffled close until our energy fields brushed against each other. I felt infinitely glad for my trine at that moment. Somehow, when all members of the trine were together, things became easier to deal with.

"What happened, Skywarp? How did you find Firechaser?" I asked, breaking the fragile calm in the room. While I would have much rather preferred to stay in the comforting moment, there were urgent matters that needed immediate address, and no time for stalling the inevitable.

"I was on patrol under Megatron's orders when I received a comm. from him, telling me to return to base and report to the command room," Skywarp began, voice much heavier than I was used to coming from a mischievous Seeker like him. "When I teleported there, only he and Soundwave were waiting. They told me they had a really important mission for me, and that it was imperative for me to complete it without mishap.

"When I asked them what it was, Megatron said it was just retrieving a mech from confinement and bringing him back to base. I thought he wanted me to bail someone out of jail or something, but Primus knows how wrong I was…" Skywarp hugged his arms, and shuddered, but he continued without pause: "I told 'im I can't teleport to places I haven't been to before, and that unless they have really good coordinates, I don't know if I can do it. Soundwave ended up data-bursting them to me. The coordinates I mean, and slag were they long. I've never seen so many decimal numbers in my life." My purple trine mate made a small huffing sound that might have been laughter, but it sounded far too bitter and cynical to carry forth humour. "I asked Soundwave if he was gonna come with me, but he said I had to be alone.

"Now, you're probably wondering about the same thing that I was wondering about: how in the pits do I bail someone out when I don't even know what he looks like? I mean, at that time, I was still thinking that I was teleporting into Kaon prison or something, and who knows how many mechs are in there?" Skywarp glanced at Thundercracker and me, optics darting and nervous. "But then Soundwave just said, in that creepy voice of his, that I'd know as soon as I get to the place."

"And what kind of a place was it, Skywarp?" I asked, hands clenching into fists as I urged him to answer, staring straight into his widened optics. He stared back at me, look bare and unseeing. When he replied, his voice had lowered to a half-whisper, and it was laced with static.

"…The place…was a _lab_, Star…

"…It was a lab…"

My wing joints stiffened.

"I teleported to the exact coordinates," He spoke softly, "and ended up in a lab."

"…A lab?" Thundercracker asked, sounding almost convinced that he had heard wrong.

"Yeah, a lab…" Skywarp echoed, expression beguilingly blank, "…I looked around, and then I saw—…" His frame abruptly gave a violent spasm, and he jerkily turned away from my gaze. "…and then I saw Firechaser…"

Dread weighed down the silence until I could almost feel its pressure against my wings. This was worse than torture. This was…scientific exploits…

Someone was running experiments on Firechaser.

"Where was the lab, Skywarp?" I pushed onward, "Who did it belong to?"

"I don't know." Skywarp shook his lowered helm, "I don't know whose it was." He bent forward, and leaned his faceplate against his hands. "As soon as I got to the place, I was being shot at, so I didn't have much time to figure who was in charge there. Mechs were trying to kill me, and they were getting awfully close, but even through all the noise and the commotion, I—…I couldn't tear my optics from Firechaser…"

Skywarp's shaking worsened, and he cursed, fingers grappling around the plating of his helm as he hid his features behind his palms. "_Primus_, Star…" His words quavered, "You have no idea what they were doing to him…!" His voice became strained, "I know you can guess from his injuries, but to actually _be_ there and _see_ what they were doing—The sick slaggers—!" With a guttural snarl through gritted dentae, Skywarp abruptly pushed off from the berth, and strode to the opposite side of the room. "And that wasn't even the worst!" He made a wild swipe with an arm, and cried out:

"He was still awake, Star! Firechaser—…He was still conscious when they were butchering him!" Skywarp bellowed, faceplate twisted into an ugly visage of horrified anger. "A-And when he—when he saw _me_—" A strangled noise suddenly cut in, and Skywarp's frame grew rigid. "…He saw me and he started to _cry_ and I—…I didn't—" Skywarp's voice abruptly broke, and his optics instantly offlined as the expression of fury morphed into a grimace of pain, "I didn't know what to do!"

Thundercracker immediately tried to rise from the berth to reach for Skywarp, but I held him back. I needed to hear everything Skywarp had to say, and if Thundercracker were to approach him now, all we would get out of him was unintelligible sobbing. The next several kliks were filled with silence, disturbed only by the heavy cycling of Skywarp's vents. Skywarp's fists clenched periodically down by his sides, and the wild flares of his energy field could be felt even two wingspans away, heated and turbulent.

"…Mechs were still trying to kill me, but I managed to avoid their shots." My purple trine mate resumed his speech after a loud sniff, "I teleported right next to Firechaser and grabbed onto him. I guess moving him at all was a really bad idea, since he was still plugged into all those machines, but I was beyond caring at that point. I teleported both of us to the first place I could think of, and ended up in Vos. The warping must've really hurt him, 'cause when I checked on him again, he was already in stasis…and what happened afterwards—…well…you know the rest…"

Thundercracker made another attempt at reaching for Skywarp, and, this time, I let him go. He dashed to Skywarp's side, and pulled our purple Seeker into his arms, murmuring words of comfort. Skywarp's wing language told me he was very upset, and that he was probably very embarrassed at being upset. However, he allowed Thundercracker to fuss over him, and stood still while our blue trine mate carefully wiped his faceplate clean.

"Skywarp," I spoke up when he looked like he had somewhat calmed down, "You still have the coordinates Soundwave gave you, correct?"

"Yeah," He nodded, and turned slightly. A scowl was forming on his faceplate, and his optics glared heatedly forward.

"The lab was in Iacon, Star," He gritted his dentae, fists trembling by his sides. "Firechaser was captured by the Autobots."

My spark instantly grew cold, icy claws of shock grasping it and clenching tightly. I could not move, frozen on the spot. Skywarp's words rang in my processors as though taunting my logic circuits, which could not believe what my audials had heard. A stabbing pain shot through my spark, and it tried to shrivel into itself, wishing to hide from the overwhelming fury and dread that threatened to overtake me completely.

"Are—Are you sure it was the Autobots?" Thundercracker asked, every bit as dismayed as I was. "…J-Just because it was in Iacon—…I-I mean, Iacon is a big city, 'Warp, perhaps you—" He shook his helm in disbelief, and stuttered, but Skywarp, with a frustrated growl, cut him off:

"Who else, TC? Who else can do this in _Iacon_!" My purple trine mate turned toward Thundercracker, and clutched onto his blue arms, "Everyone except for the civilians is an Autobot there!"

"But what benefits would they gain from kidnapping one of our young and experimenting on him?" Thundercracker shot back as if determined to falsify Skywarp's claims, "The Autobots cannot possibly risk making an enemy out of us, 'Warp! They know we have enough weaponry to retaliate against any attacks they can throw our way! They must be utterly _mad_ if they—"

"-Primus damnit, TC! I don't care if they're glitched as frag! I know I was in Iacon and I know they were grounders, so who else could they have been!"

I offlined my optics, and covered my faceplate with my hands. My trine mates continued to argue, but instead of telling them to stop yelling at each other, I could only curl up and shake.

What was happening? I could not understand. How did everything suddenly become such a big, unrecognizable mess?

Confusion ate away at my spark. None of this made sense anymore. Why were the Autobots so foolish as to think they had the military power to attack my city? They knew my army was strong. They knew Vosian weaponry was advanced and powerful. What could they possibly gain from their ambitious stupidity? I was so frustrated!

There was no chance for the Autobots to win if they were to attempt an invasion. It was impossible. The landscape surrounding Vos was flat and barren, perfect for air strikes, which meant sending in foot soldiers was out of the question. Even if the Autobots did miraculously manage to reach the outer edge of my city, they would have nowhere to go, stuck beneath a fortress that was the labyrinth that separated Vos from the rest of Cybertron.

Meeting my fliers head-on in the air was even more ridiculous. The Autobots had ships that allowed them flight, yes, but they were slow and ineffective for battle. Against fleets of wings trained to bring down everything in their way, hovercrafts were practically floating targets. I was confident that Vos would remain impenetrable should war erupt between the Autobots and my city. As long as my people were behind Vosian walls, they were safe.

However, I was worried.

I was…afraid.

What if the Autobots simply would not give up? There was advantage in numbers, and there were so many more ground pounders than fliers on Cybertron. While Vos was self-efficient, I had become aware of the desperation plaguing those who were forced to live in the deep towers. If war were to happen, their living conditions would only worsen. Not only that, I knew they would be pushed aside in favour of more immediate, pressing matters. What if the Autobots were mad enough to continue attacking even after repeated defeats? What if Iacon and Vos reached a stalemate? My fliers were spectacular in the air, but casualties were inevitable in battle. If war were to become a matter of waiting to see who died out first, Vos would stand little chance against the rest of Cybertron.

…Was war…truly a possibility?

I rubbed my faceplate, and took a deep, shaky cycle of air.

There was much I still did not know, but one thing was clear. Based on the nature of the wounds on Firechaser's wings, it was very obvious what the Autobots were experimenting with.

They were developing anti-flight weaponry.

Such weaponry would not even need to deactivate a flier. All the Autobots needed it to do was to effectively bring fliers down from the sky, and the fight would be over.

Fliers did not know how to fight on the ground. We were not built to do so. Grounded brawls did happen, but the victor was often simply bigger and sturdier rather than being more skilled. There was never really the need to train for ground combat. Why learn how to fight hand-to-hand when one could simply swoop down from above and take out opponents with single, precise shots? Even the Space Shuttles, almost always larger than ground pounders, would be at a disadvantage when grounded.

What would happen to us if the Autobots actually assembled such weaponry? Getting through the labyrinth would still be difficult, but Vosian casualty in battle would increase in greater numbers. What would Vos do when its defenders could no longer actively protect it? Would I be forced to take my fliers away, and leave Cybertron behind? The choice was not preferable, but finding another home amongst the stars was better than perishing altogether. There were ways to harvest energon, and all fliers were capable of space travel.

…I knew all this.

I knew I have options.

However…

I did not want to be forced to leave.

I did not want to leave Vos.

…Vos was _home_…

…and no one should have to choose between leaving his home, or face deactivation.

"…Star?" Thundercracker's voice jolted me out of my thoughts. His light touch on my left wing outright startled me, and my intakes hitched in a gasp.

My hands fell away from my faceplate, and I looked up, taking notice with slight surprise that Thundercracker and Skywarp were no longer quarreling. They were crowding around me instead, leaning almost a little too close. They were staring at me with an awful lot of concern, but that was not the only oddity that caught my attention. My vision was blurry, and, for several kliks, I could not figure out why. It was not until Thundercracker held my faceplate in his hands, and gently swiped his thumbs over my cheek-plates did I realize that they were wet from the coolant streaming down from my optics.

I did not know why coolant was streaming down from my optics. I was not exactly upset, though slightly shaken and unsure about what to do. I felt dazed. I could not understand how so much had changed in so little joors. I was thrown out of balance, and I did not know what to say even when Thundercracker asked me if I was okay.

I was not okay, but I batted his hands away and wiped my faceplate clean. Sitting on my aft and shedding tears would not change anything. I needed to be strong. I needed to take initiative. I needed to take care of Firechaser, Nightfire, their family unit, and all citizens of Vos. This was my responsibility, my only responsibility, and mine alone.

…Mine…alone…

I sighed through my vents, and I thought of Skyfire.

I no longer thought of Skyfire often. The busyness of my schedule made thinking about anything other than my duties somewhat difficult. However, whenever I felt like buckling under the weight of my title, I often thought of him, my white, angelic Space Shuttle…whom I really, really missed.

It had been…too many vorns to count since Skyfire's deactivation, but my spark still throbbed when I thought about him. I had not realized how reliant on him I had been until I lost him to that young planet light-years away. While he had never meddled with my rule over Vos, he had voluntarily carried half of my burdens. He was my intended bondmate, the only one who was essentially my equal, and having an equal had been nice. Skyfire was not obligated to follow my orders, and the notion really did not bother me as much as I thought it would. If anything, he was the strength that held up my world, and when he was gone…

I shook my helm.

Thinking about Skyfire was not going to help the current situation either.

"…Oh, frag!" An alarmed yelp from Skywarp snapped me out of my thoughts, and both Thundercracker and I turned to look at him, wondering what was troubling him all of a sudden.

"What is it?" Thundercracker asked when Skywarp failed to explain, opting to stare at us with wide optics and an opened mouth.

"…Oh no—!" Our purple trine mate wailed, "He's gonna slag me!" Flopping down beside me on the berth, Skywarp made a tragic expression, and groaned.

"Who?" Thundercracker frowned, and shared a confused glance with me.

"Megatron!" Skywarp's wings sagged on his back, "He's probably still waiting for me to report back to him!"

…Megatron.

My optics widened, and everything abruptly raced into track.

Megatron.

He was the one who had warned me about the Autobots when I visited him during my trip to Iacon.

He was the one who had ordered Skywarp to go on the mission.

This could only mean one thing:

He _knew_ the whereabouts of Firechaser, and yet he had not told me.

Rage.

Fiery, explosive rage shot through my system so quickly that my fuel lines were instantly aflame with impetuous heat. My wings began to rattle. My optics narrowed. My hands clenched so hard that I could feel the cables in the joints of my fingers straining against the tension.

…How long?

…How long had he known?

How long had he been aware of the Autobots running their sickening experiments on one of my Seekers!

I gritted my dentae, and I saw murder.

How _could_ he?

How could he have known and not told me what was happening to Firechaser?

How _dare_ he press me close to him, look at me in the optics, and so blatantly pretend that he did not know when he _knew_!

Humiliation punched me straight in the gut, and pierced through my spark chamber like an icy spear.

I had wanted him.

I had desired him.

I had allowed him to touch me, and I had lusted after his spike.

I had lain in my berth, unable to recharge, all because I had been tortured by thoughts of his hands on the most intimate parts of my frame. All the while he—he—…

What a fool I had made of myself! How could I have been so _stupid_! How could I have ever even _once_ believed that he—

-Hurt.

It hurt.

I bit my lips, and offlined my optics when a wave of hurt mercilessly drilled through my spark.

How could I have ever even once believed that he thought of me as anything more than a mere, passing convenience?

Thundercracker was once again asking me if I was okay. Even Skywarp, despite his recently found woe, was looking at me with worry written all over his faceplate. However, I did not respond to any of their inquiries, frozen rigid while I snuffed out the hurt, and cultivated the fury.

Without a single word to my trine mates, I pushed off from the berth, and walked to the door, steps determined and quick. Slamming down on the keypad, I snatched a blaster from the first guard that came into view upon the opening of the door, and strode back into the confinement room.

"_You_," I pointed at Skywarp, voice in a cold, hard hiss, "are going to teleport me, right this instance, to Kaon, where that slagger Megatron is."

Skywarp only stared, frozen in a half-risen position from the berth. When he still failed to comply after several silent kliks of blatant gaping, I almost shot at him for being too stupid to follow my order.

"_Now_, Skywarp!" I abruptly shouted, and the purple idiot jumped at the sudden, sharp volume. Scrambling on his peds, he ran toward me, and grabbed me by the arm.

"W-Wait—Starscream!" Thundercracker cried out just as Skywarp activated his warping system. Frantic and alarmed, our blue trine mate ran toward us, and made a massive leap in the air. His hands stretched forward, trying to catch on before we could teleport away, but he was too late, too far to reach us in time.

I knew he was too late.

He should have been too late.

…But he was not too late.

He grappled on, and we all fell to the floor in a pile.

"What the frag—_Skywarp_!" I shrieked as I pushed and kicked at the bodies that landed on top of mine, and cursed up a storm. The idiot Skywarp—He failed in the only thing he was ever good for! On the verge of becoming mad with fury, I began to aim the blaster at a certain idiot's wiggling aft. However, before I could shoot, Skywarp made a holler of realization, and barked out the reason for his failure:

"My coordinate system! It's still deactivated!"

I wanted to slap my faceplate.

Of course! His arrest entailed disabling his coordinate system so he could not teleport away! With a rather impressive heave, I untangled my limbs from my trine mates', and zeroed in on the guard whose blaster I had taken.

"You! Activate his coordinate system!" I commanded.

The guard stared.

"_Now_!" I screamed. I was surrounded by incompetent fools!

"—A-Affirmative, your Highness! Right away!" The guard rushed toward Skywarp, who had returned to his peds by then, and detached the small scrambler from the back of Skywarp's neck cables. As soon as the little device came off, I grabbed Skywarp's hand, and pinned him with a steely glare.

"Now, teleport." I bit out through gritted dentae, voice in a low snarl.

Skywarp nodded hastily, and activated his teleportation system. Thundercracker, unfortunately, had glued himself to Skywarp's other side, undoubtedly determined to stop me from deactivating a ground pounder that definite deserved deactivating. No matter, I clenched the blaster in my hand tightly. No one could stop me.

With a distinct pop, our surroundings warped and faded, and were quickly replaced by a large, dull-looking room that I was not familiar with. However, its lack of decor and proper furnishing barely registered in my processors. My optics swept over the large chamber, but I did not notice anything else except for the massive ground pounder that sat on a big chair in the center of the room.

_Megatron_.

I sneered in hatred, and my optics narrowed to slits. As soon as I was firm on my peds, I swung up the blaster, and curled my finger around the trigger.

I fired.

The speed at which Megatron dodged my shot was very impressive for a mech his size, but, at that moment, it only angered me further. I clutched the blaster in both hands, and aimed, taking shot after shot at the ground pounder who was annoyingly hard to hit despite being a large target. I knew I had very good aim, but only a few of my shots grazed him, none of them damaging him as much as I would have liked. He made an abrupt turn I did not anticipate, and suddenly charged toward me, faceplate in a scowl and lips parted as though to speak. Without a klik's pause, I fired again, and, this time, my shot hit him square on the shoulder.

He let out a pained grunt, and his shoulder reared back from the impact of the shot. However, to my instantly flaring alarm, he continued to advance upon me with large, fast strides, steps heavy against the floor and energy field crackling with rage. Fear immediately sliced through my spark when I realized just how close he was getting to me, and I hurriedly took aim again. However, before I could fire, he swung back his fist, and sent a punch flying toward my helm.

With a high yelp, I immediately engaged my thrusters, and bent backward. I avoided the hit by a mere klik, and watched with spark-seizing terror as the large, hard fist sailed over my faceplate by less than a wingtip. I flew away a few steps, skidding along the floor, and tried to steady my suddenly shaky hands for another shot. However, he was somehow faster, and his other hand came lashing down, slapping the blaster clean out of my fingers.

Suddenly weaponless and vulnerable, I instantly looked up, seeking escape. The ceiling was high enough for me to retreat from immediate danger, and there was no way a grounder could catch me if I were to fly. Unfortunately, Megatron seemed to have realized what I was planning to do. Before I could even engage my thrusters, his hand once again came striking down, and it hit me straight in the faceplate.

The impact swept me off my peds. I let out a sharp cry, and fell to the side, cheek plating bursting into flaming pain. I landed on my front, sprawled out on the floor, and let out a small groan when my cheek continued to sting from the harsh smack. However, before I could move a single finger to rub at the burn, a crushing weight came slamming down against my back, and pinned me to the floor. My cockpit glass screeched against the hard, coarse surface, and I screamed, thrashing against the heavy ped pressing me down. Thick fingers abruptly clenched around the top edges of my wings, denting the thin metal, and my shrieks of indignation instantly became screams of agony when they pulled.

Pain erupted all over my sensor net, so strong that I became momentarily blind. My wing joints were being stretched to their limits. Any more pressure and my wings would undoubtedly be ripped straight from my back. Coolant washed down my faceplate, and I cried out in shrill wails, struggling against the unrelenting grip on my wings. Unicron slag me, I had never been in so much excruciating agony in my entire existence. To make matters worse, the fingers around my wings increasingly tightened, and they were starting to crumble my sensitive appendages, kliks from splintering my flight sensors.

"Stop! Stop!" My vocalizer strained as I shrieked, voice several pitches higher than normal, "Please! Just stop!"

"I have every reason to tear off your wings and deactivate you right where you are, Starscream!" A loud, deep bellow answered me from above, and by Primus was it terrifying. However, to my sheer surprise, the fingers around my wings loosened their clutch by a minute degree. Realizing that Megatron seemed to respond well to begging and submissive behaviour, I instantly started to plead, words spilling easily from my quivering lips.

"P-Please don't do that! Please don't!" I wailed, whimpering and making all sorts of meek little noises. "M-Megatron! Please—!" I whined, squirming and perking up my aft even though the motion caused sharp jabs of pain to shoot up my neural network. Biting down on my dentae and choking back sobs, I reached back, and felt around blindly until I found his thigh. Giving the thick limb awkward rubs, I prayed to Primus that Megatron would become distracted enough to forget about ripping my wings off.

"Why shouldn't I?" His voice was quieter, but it was every bit as angry as his shouting, if not more alarming and dangerous. "You intruded into my base with a weapon and proceeded to attempt to deactivate me with it. Why _shouldn't_ I end you, flier?"

"B-Because—…Because—" I spluttered.

What kind of a question was _that_!

"-Because I—"

My processors reeled, and they scrambled for a reason through the overwhelming haze of burning suffering I was going through. I whimpered loudly, and spurted out the first thought that dashed across my mind, which happened to be:

"—I'm too pretty to die—!"

For a long moment, Megatron froze still, as though he could not understand what in the pits I had just said. Then, little by little, his fingers loosened around my wing edges until my poor, abused appendages were finally released. I groaned in relief, and sagged to the floor with a shaky sigh from my vents. His ped remained pressed to my back, but the weight was no longer crushing, only firm. We remained in the same position for almost a whole breem before a voice cut through the silence, which was starting to grate on my neural sensors with scary awkwardness.

"L-Let him go, ground pounder, or—or I'll shoot!" I heard Thundercracker stutter out, and Megatron shifted slightly from on top of me in response. I turned in the direction Thundercracker's voice had come from, and spotted him pointing the blaster I had dropped at the one keeping me on the floor. Despite his wavering words, my blue trine mate's faceplate wore an expression of determination. His aim was steady, and I had never seen his optics so bright with the intention of harming another mech before.

"Uhh…TC?" Skywarp looked irritatingly useless as he shifted on his peds beside our blue trine mate, "I don't think that's such a good idea…" Megatron must have glanced at him, for he winced slightly before continuing on: "Trying to deactivate a grounder with a blaster designed for a flier is just not gonna work. It'll still hurt like slag, but their plating's just too thick, you see…"

My faceplate mirrored Thundercracker's as he gaped at the blaster he held in his hands in dawning realization and shock. I could not believe I had forgotten about such an important factor. The blaster did not even carry enough charge to deactivate a large-sized flier, let alone a ground pounder. Unless there was an emergency, interior guards never carried heavy-duty military weapons, and only heavy-duty military weapons could actually fully penetrate through a ground pounder's frame to properly hurt and kill.

I had attacked a ground pounder who slagged other ground pounders for a living with a measly little blaster meant to deter than deactivate, while I was grounded in a room inside a base that belonged to the aforementioned ground pounder.

If I were not in so much pain, I would have been extremely embarrassed with myself.

Megatron make a low, unimpressed hum, and I felt him reaching to place his hand on me. I stiffened, and almost whimpered, but he only rested his palm against my left wing.

"I cannot imagine what I could have done to cause you to act in such a manner, Starscream." He sounded calmer, but he was far from being happy with me. "I expect you to stop your foolish behaviour and explain yourself after I let you go. Will you comply?"

"…Yes," I mumbled, and was annoyed at being treated like an unruly sparkling. However, I was glad I no longer had to be lying on the floor, which was really quite filthy. The weight on my back vanished, and I quickly pushed myself up onto my peds. I tried moving my wings, and flinched when they slowly waved. Their joints still stung a lot, but the pain had dwindled down to being mostly sore.

I could handle a little soreness.

Straightening up, I wiped my faceplate clean of coolant, and glared up at the ground pounder that almost tore my wings off. Megatron glowered down at me, lips pressed tightly together and forming a slight, downward arc. His hulking form exuded waves after waves of held back anger, and his optics glowed like raging pitfire. If I were being completely honest with myself, I would say I was more than a little intimidated. However, pride kept me from scooting back to my trine for comfort, so I stood my ground, sneering up at the massive mech.

"You hurt me," I narrowed my optics, "I can send my army after you for that."

"You initiated an attack, and I responded accordingly. I have no reason I treat you differently from any other mechs I encounter, Starscream," Megatron remained still, voice flat but harsh. "You have no authority here."

I had never before longed so dearly for my null rays than at that moment, itching to add a few scorch marks to his chassis. Unfortunately, I did not have them with me, so I crossed my arms, and tilted my chin upward just so I could stare him down over my nose bridge. I knew he was right, but that did not mean I had to openly acknowledge it. Seeing that I was obviously not going to reply, Megatron gave me a steady gaze, and chose to continue speaking.

"What business do you bring, flier?" He paused briefly, and his optics made a small flash, "Have you finally decided to wear my mark?"

Once again, anger shot through me, but this time, I fought to keep it down. After all, I did not want a repeat of what had just happened. My optics narrowed further, and I yelled up at him, a scowl most prominent on my features:

"As I have said before, ground pounder, I will never wear your mark!" I took a step forward, and activated my thrusters to boost up my height until our faceplates were even, "And I'm here regarding the matter of Firechaser!"

Recent memory-files resurfaced, and my wings jerked agitatedly as images of Firechaser on the medical berth returned. I had to bite back a wince when the sharp movements caused my wing joints to throb, and pushed onward with my accusations:

"You _knew_ about his whereabouts, yet you did _nothing_ to notify me," My jaw joints tensed, and my fists trembled. "How could you allow the Autobots to continue their disgusting actions when you _knew_ there was a way to rescue him!" My voice became progressively louder, "Why did you not tell me when you _knew_? Why did you wait until _now_?" The sight of Firechaser's torn frame refused to leave my processors, and my spark quivered, pinching painfully from the distress and helplessness I felt. "You are every bit as responsible as Firechaser's tormentors to his suffering!" I shouted right into his faceplate, and my wings fanned out despite the gesture adding strain to their hurt.

"I had my suspicions, but I did not know for sure," Megatron answered, seemingly unaffected by my words. "Even if I had known, I'm not obligated to tell you anything, Starscream."

"But I'm your potential ally!" I glared straight into his optics, and stabbed his chassis with a finger, "It would do you well to win my favour, ground pounder!"

Instead of getting riled up by my jabby fingers, Megatron only leveled me with a flat stare. "It would indeed benefit me to have your _allegiance_, but you overestimate your value to me," He spoke evenly, tone solid and cold. "You are not special."

My spark skidded in my spark chamber, and, for a long moment, I only stared at him, optics widening.

I had let this ground pounder place his hands on my plating. I had allowed him to press me against a wall and ravish my frame. I even consented to him pulling me close against his chassis with an audience around us, and he would _dare_ to say that I was not _special_?

My lips parted, and I was kliks from unleashing a furious tirade of insults. However, he quickly cut me off, speaking before I could utter a word.

"From the way you have reacted to Firechaser's retrieval, I take it that you are now aware of the inevitability of war?"

My lips remained parted, but I fell silent, gaping at him and furious tirade lost.

"War is coming, Starscream, whether you are ready for its arrival or not," He took a step toward me as he spoke, and I made a noise of surprise, immediately trying to hover back. However, he instantly lifted his arm, and caught me before I could move away. He pressed his hand flat against my back, and kept me still with a touch that was almost gentle, but infinitely assured. His optics were in their full shine, sparks crackling around their edges, and…somehow…he looked different from the first few times I had seen him.

At first, I could not quite place what it was, and then, realization hit me:

Megatron had changed.

Slowly and surely, he had undergone a drastic transformation.

He was no longer a troubled miner not knowing what to do with his own strength. He was no longer a gladiator fighting and killing just to survive another cycle in the smelting pits of Kaon. He had become the commander of a spawning army, a leader who was immovable in his ideals and relentless in pursuing his goal.

His goal…which was to renew Cybertron by plunging its inhabitants into the flames of war.

"There is a choice you must make," His voice was quieter, authority bleeding through his words rather than volume, "and it is whether you wish to be the aggressor or the victim, to be the strong or the weak." His gaze was penetrating, and it bore deeply into my optics.

"…However, know this, Starscream," He pulled me closer, until my cockpit was pressed flush against his chassis, optics piercing into my own:

"There will be no room for the weak in the world I will build from Cybertron's ashes."

For a long moment, I remained silent.

…I simply did not know what to say, and I had forgotten how to breathe.

My intakes gasped to a stop, and my vents spluttered to a halt. I was trapped under his presence, enveloped by the heat of his frame.

Everything was happening at too quickly a pace. I did not have the time to fully understand the situation, to settle on a best course of action to take. This was not how one decided on what to do that was best for his city. This was not how a responsible monarch chose the fate of his people. Such a significant decision required cycles upon cycles of careful analysis and deliberation with advisors, during which all possible outcomes were explored, and all scenarios tested through simulations. Such a decision should be made based on logic, and not on impulse, which was governed by the spark, not the processors.

I knew what I _should_ do, and it was to tell this grounder an answer that was not an answer at all – a favoured response of all politicians. However…_Megatron_…

…There was something about him…that made me…

…_impulsive_…

I studied him, wishing to delve into his gaze and unravel the why behind how a previously nameless grounder could hold my attention so entirely and avidly. I watched him, and tried to find the answer to such mystery. However, I was simply too distracted by the reactions of my frame to think, as it was pressed too snuggly against his rougher plating.

…A fluttering sensation tickled my spark chamber, and I felt almost lightheaded, vocalizer rendered mute. My wing joints tingled with the remnants of pain, and my dented wing edges continued to send out ripples of gentle throbbing. My processors were silent and blank. My spark swelled behind my rounded canopy. Its heat was overwhelming, and it warmed my frame all the way to my wing tips from my burning core.

"…I…will be your ally, Megatron…" I whispered, and tried in vain to fight back the shiver that shook through my frame.

Megatron watched me in return, and a faint smirk tilted up the corners of his lips. "For now," He added, and slowly lifted his other hand, the one not keeping me pressed close. His fingers touched my flight sensors, and ran along the bottom edge of my left wing. My intakes instantly gasped, and my cooling fans clicked online with a very noticeable whirr. I immediately latched onto his shoulders, and squirmed, biting back a strangled whimper as sharp sensations of pleasure surged through my system.

He continued to watch me, and his optics smoldered with liquid heat.

"I have said this before," He spoke softly, voice low and minutely rasped:

"You _will_ wear my mark, Starscream."

My cheek plates grew hot, and I shakily averted my gaze.

"…You will wear it proudly."

He finished with a low rumble, and there was an indulgent smile in his deep voice.

My spark pounded in my spark chamber, and I nibbled on my quivering lips.

I did not agree with his statement, nor did I refute it.

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><p><strong>Notes:<strong> This chapter ended up being longer than I'd expected. I expanded on the scene between Megatron and Starscream during editing, and, hopefully, it's made you wish they'd just get on with the naughty already(!) a little bit more, haha!

Unfortunately, there's a few chapters left before they do anything resembling the naughty, so, for now, you'll have to bear with the two of them simply…doing whatever it is that they're currently doing (being difficult? XD).

I _am_ rather pleased, though, to announce that this chapter is the first chapter where Megatron slaps Starscream around! Come now, be honest, who's been anticipating for that to happen? ;p

I must admit: I do take a small sliver of giddy satisfaction at seeing Starscream get smacked around. However, I do not wish to write abuse, at least not for this story when these two are involved. This does not mean there won't be any violence – there will be tons of it, and some can be graphic. I just really hope to find an alternate reason for its existence in Megatron and Starscream's relationship. For some reasons, writing Megatron as an abuser in this story just doesn't feel right.

Before I end this note (so it doesn't get any lengthier and effectively bore you), I'd like to take a moment to say thank-you to all who've read my story, and added it to favourites/alerts. Special shout-outs once again to reviewers, who are in many ways awesome and amazing: _Devlinn Reiko_, _Random523_, _Koluno1986_, _Chibi Oro_, _TsukiyomiNeko_, _Ashcola17_, _Wol Lo_, _ChaosGarden_, _Pandablubb_, _PwnKage_, _The Happy Shark_, _The Apple's Pie_ (Thanks for your reviews! I haven't been able to reply to them as it seems you have disabled your PM, so I just wanted to tell you that I really appreciate you leaving me a few words), and _lildevchick_. Your comments mean a lot to me, and they always manage to bring a big smile onto my face despite what kind of a day I've had, so, truly, thank you! :))))

Starting next chapter, there will be progressively more Megatron. If memory serves me correctly, he'll be having lengthy appearances in pretty much all chapters from now on. The plot will also be approaching its "rising conflicts" stage. I think its exposition stage is long enough (approximately 80,000 words)…XD

Anyways, I really hope you've enjoyed reading this chapter, and I look forward to sharing more of this story with you. Please do leave me a review if you have the time! I'd appreciate it immensely.


	9. X, XI

Disclaimer: Own Transformers? Haha, I wish…XD

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><p>X<p>

"What in the pits happened to being sensible and keeping me from making impulsive decisions?" I pursed my lips in displeasure, and glanced at Thundercracker with a look of blame.

Thundercracker shifted on his perch by the window, and avoided my optics.

"I think it was smart of TC to not interrupt Megatron when he was trying to do something," Skywarp came to Thundercracker's rescue, piping up from his berth, "Besides, you didn't look like you minded all that much." He turned toward me, and grinned, optics shimmering in a maddeningly amused manner.

"How could I not mind, you idiot? He was practically strangling me!" I slammed a fist down on Thundercracker's berth, and glared at the purple fool, who was looking much too tickled about my situation to my liking.

"Oh _please_, Screamer, _every_one could tell how much you loved it when he touched your wing," Flipping over to settle on his elbows, Skywarp snickered, and a wicked glint entered his optics. "Even _Soundwave_ looked embarrassed being in the same room with the two of you grabbing at each other, and you can't even see his faceplate!"

My cheek plates instantly threatened to heat. I had completely overlooked the existence of others aside from Megatron during the majority of my latest visit to Kaon. To my great embarrassment, Soundwave had been there as well, and he had witnessed everything.

"Since when were we grabbing at each other!" I was kliks away from leaping to throttle my purple trine mate. "_Megatron_ was the one who—"

"-Alright! Alright! That's enough," Thundercracker got up from his perch, and quickly walked over just in case we got into another brawl. "We've been through this conversation at least ten times now, and you," He pointed at Skywarp with a frown, "Stop baiting Star. He has a lot of things weighing down his wings right now, so he certainly doesn't need _you_ teasing him on the side."

"Thundercracker's right," I crossed my arms, and scowled at Skywarp, "Some trine mate _you_ are."

"Awwwww, but TC," Skywarp whined, sticking out his downer lip in a nauseatingly exaggerated pout, "I'm just trying to cheer Screamer up!"

"Your efforts are failing." I sneered, words curt and voice flat.

"You just don't know how to properly appreciate me. Your loss really," Shrugging, Skywarp seemed to have finally grown bored with poking fun at my expense, and flipped around. Flopping down on his berth on his back, he rubbed his cockpit absentmindedly, and stared at the ceiling.

"I'm glad you decided to form an alliance with Megatron though," He spoke lightheartedly, which contrasted oddly with the subject he was addressing; "If the Autobots try anything, we're gonna kick their afts for sure!" He swung one of his fists, and I scoffed, my vents huffing out a short burst of air.

"We can kick their afts without the alliance." I stated confidently, and turned away to lie down on my back, temporarily offlining my optics. I heard Thundercracker move, and felt the berth I was laying on dip. The silence that followed was nice. It was very relaxing. I needed such a moment to take a break from the generally hectic state of my city.

Cycles had passed since my impromptu trip to Kaon. So far, words of Firechaser's retrieval had not reached the audials of those outside my tower. However, there was still a prominent sense of nervousness in the air, especially after I ordered an increase of military personnel around Vos and its outer perimeter. All guards were now required to carry heavy duty weaponry, and all requests for leaving the city had been denied by my instruction.

I had not called the Fighter Jets involved in Firechaser's search back to Vos. I was not about to give the Autobots any indication that I was behind Firechaser's return. They must have been suspicious, since Skywarp made such a dramatic appearance in their labs. However, my most recent meeting with the Senates suggested that they were simply too afraid to do much else aside from playing oblivious. I did not know how long they wanted to keep up their blatant and obvious pretense, but as long as I continued to play my part, I doubted they were willing to admit their active role in the crimes committed against Firechaser, or would they try to kidnap any more of my citizens.

A transparent lie was the only barrier keeping Cybertron from erupting into war, and neither of our parties was especially keen to see such happen.

The tension between Vos and the rest of Cybertron was almost tangible, shrouding the planet in a thick curtain of unease. My city was quieter now, the bustling in its sky lessening as each cycle went by. No flier seemed to want to reach higher altitude anymore, more comfortable with cruising around the towers. It congested air traffic, but no one was complaining. Swiftglide, with his increasing number of listeners to his conspiracy theories, had to be reappointed to work in my tower as one of the administrative staff just so I could keep an optic on his vocalizer. Keeping him fully confined in my tower would cause even more unrest, so overwhelming him with paperwork was the next best thing.

Overall, everything was under control. Thundercracker had volunteered to take over Nightfire's duties while the Space Shuttle was recovering from shock, and whenever my blue trine mate ran into problems regarding the scientific aspects of Nightfire's work, he consulted me. Firechaser's conditions had reached stability after many joors of hard work from the medics, and, just two cycles ago, I was informed that he was on his way to a full recovery. After being made to swear absolute secrecy, his immediate family unit was told a gist of the situation, and his creators were allowed temporary stay in my tower to see their creation. Despite the hard hits all of our sparks took upon first sight of Firechaser after his return, things were looking up. Nightfire seemed to be the only one who still had not gathered himself, but I was not about to rush him.

Nightfire held great affection for Firechaser. He often helped the young Seeker on his studies, and sometimes even participated in his little experiments. I was well aware of Firechaser's importance to Nightfire. After all, Firechaser was sparked closely after Skyfire's deactivation, and his sparking filled a deep void in Nightfire's life. Being sibling units, Skyfire's loss was devastating, and Firechaser was the one who ultimately pulled Nightfire out of the numb narcosis he had sunk into. I could not imagine how terrified Nightfire had been when he laid his optics on Firechaser's heavily injured frame, fearing the worst. It must have been akin to losing a part of his spark all over again.

Things were indeed looking up, but there was still much to do, which was why a moment of peace with my trine was so incredibly precious. I was not sure how such a Primus-blessed break from my duties came to be, but I was not about to complain and waste my time. Pushing myself upright from Thundercracker's berth, I stretched my arms and my wings, and got onto my peds. Turning to my trine mates, who onlined their optics as they heard me move, I propped my hands on my hips, and flicked my wings twice.

"Get off your lazy afts," I purposefully sent Skywarp a pointed glance, and smirked when he made a face back at me, "We're going out for a flight."

"Seriously?" Skywarp's expression instantly changed to that of excited surprise, and he perked up, optics brightening with a flash.

"When am I ever not serious?" I scrunched my nose-bridge at him, and let out a sharp huff of air through my vents. However, I did nothing to deter Skywarp from letting out a loud "whoop" as he leapt from his berth, and simultaneously threw his hands upward in celebration.

"Yeah!" He cheered, purple wings twitching happily up and down while he beamed at Thundercracker and I, "About time we go for a flight as a trine!" He laughed, and eagerly rocked on his heels, faceplate in a wide array of giddy expressions.

"Hey, y'know," He continued his chatter, "for the past deca or two, I've been on patrol a lot, right? For Megatron, I mean. I'm the only one who can cover a lot of ground in a short amount of time, being a flier and all. Anyways, while I was on patrol, I was so bored that I started thinking about maneuvers we could do. And then I had this kick-aft idea that'll definitely blow you off your thrusters when you hear it! Ready? Ready?" Swinging his arms out wide to the side, he grinned:

"Well, here it is! It's about me flipping over in midair while we're all in our jet modes in standard formation, touching our wings together, and then teleporting us right as we're flying! Isn't that awesome? Imagine the look on everyone's faceplates when they see it!"

"Yeah, imagine the look on everyone's faceplate when you send your trine mates stuck between dimensions, lost forever." I scoffed, and turned toward the door, easily dismissing his idea as stupid.

"Shut up, Screamer. You're just jealous I got an idea more awesome than all of yours combined." He grinned wider when I cast him a dark glare in response, and was not discouraged in the slightest. "I seriously thought about this! Look!" He went on to demonstrate with his hands, yapping like a hyperactive sparkling about his genius maneuver.

Thundercracker merely smiled, and got up onto his peds, watching Skywarp's enthusiasm with a warm gaze. His optics continued to shimmer even as we left our trine quarters, and he only chuckled when I started to bicker loudly with Skywarp. There was something different about his expression as he listened to Skywarp defend his idea, something so small that I wondered if I had simply missed it before. There was a glow in his cheek plates that suggested gathering energon, and his smile was a little too wide to be merely amused. I did not have the time to figure out what it meant, though, for we quickly arrived at the topmost flight deck, and he turned away from Skywarp to address me with a nod.

"At your signal, trine leader," He took his spot by my right wing, and stood tall in perfect posture.

"Yeah, Screamer! Hurry up!" Skywarp piped up from my left, and practically bounced on his thrusters, shooing me to take off with his hands.

Normally, I would have considered giving Skywarp's aft a kick for his insolence, but at the moment, I was simply too eager to fly to care. With only a halfhearted glare carelessly tossed in his direction, I turned around to face the deck, and felt a grin tugging up the corners of my lips. My wings itched to feel the cool air against my flight sensors, and my spark had already begun to strum in anticipation.

Without another word, I dashed forward, and dived.

The currents were strong today. Surging winds blasted against my flight sensors, making them sing with sensation. I felt my trine mates leap off the deck after me, and immediately flipped around in midair, activating my transformation sequence. Once in jet mode, I engaged my thrusters, and shot upward, engines screeching in delight when I felt my Seekers follow after me. Thundercracker and Skywarp quickly filled their spots in formation as we reached full speed, and we soared, climbing higher and higher above my city.

We flew in wide loops, circling vertically upward. The air grew cold as we left the towers behind, and the currents grew harsh. Rather abruptly, I swung my nosecone back. Cockpit facing planet surface, I kept a straight flight path, and held my position as long as I could. I was extremely pleased that my trine mates dutifully followed my example, and waited for me to return upright before doing the same. Flying upside down was hardly comfortable as it disoriented a flier's equilibrium, and it could become dangerous if prolonged. However, my trine mates did as told without question, trusting me with their wings and spark. This made me infinitely proud of my trine, and I opened my side of our trine bond, sending them a large wave of appreciation and happiness.

They quickly reciprocated, and I felt my spark swell.

There was very little in the universe that could compare to flying in perfect syncopation with one's trine.

We flew in different formations, piercing through the sky at top speed. We went through maneuvers, starting with simple flips and turns, and slowly worked our way toward intricate, complex patterns made up of complicated, interchanging flight paths. We flew battle plans, swerving around unseen enemies. We engaged them in simulations of combat, and meticulously brought them down one by one. Fifteen breems later, I was certain we had gained the full attention of Vos, surging overhead in impressive speeds as fliers watched from below, admiring the beauty of our forms and the perfection of my trine.

I was in absolute ecstasy. My trine mates followed my lead without flaw, and they reacted to my subtle wing language with crystal accuracy. Only during moments such as these did Skywarp prove that he was not actually half as stupid as he pretended to be. Both of my trine mates had to be extremely sharp and perceptive. Their processing power must be fast enough to accommodate mine, even if I were to attempt throwing them off while slicing clean through the air. Their quick reflexes and precise intuition were what gifted them with the capability of keeping up with me. I was smaller, lighter, and more agile than both of them, but they made up for what they lacked with effort, and clever ingenuity.

We were the most beautiful trine to grace the sky of Cybertron, and the deadliest fliers any battle would ever know.

Righting myself and accelerating upward after an abrupt dive, I waited for my trine mates to return to standard position. They did so after a mere klik, but before I could lead them into another maneuver, Skywarp pinged both Thundercracker and I through our trine link.

:_Can we try my idea now?_: His voice reflected exactly how expectant he was.

:_Are you sure it's safe?_: I easily asked. I could not believe I was even considering his crazy idea. I must have been enjoying this even more than I thought, based on how lenient I was to sheer absurdity.

:_Of course it is! I'm not gonna let anything happen to TC!_: He replied, and a sudden burst from his thrusters made him scoot closer to my left wing insistently.

:_What about me?_: I sent a surge of hurt over our bond. :_Am I expendable now?_:

:_Calm down, Screamer,_: Skywarp replied with a bubble of laughter, :_You're too fast and light for this to work. TC's slow and heavy, perfect for my plan._:

:_Wow, thanks, 'Warp. You cannot possibly imagine how touched I am by your kind opinions of me._: Thundercracker joined in with a dry, flat remark, but the amusement from his side of the link told us that he was not offended in the slightest.

:_You're welcome, TC!_: Skywarp answered with a playful lilt in his voice.

If Thundercracker had been in base mode, he would have shook his helm with a small, exasperated smile.

:_So how does this exactly work?_: I asked as we continued to cruise along the winds.

:_Like this!_: Without warning. Skywarp abruptly swerved to the right, careening toward Thundercracker. Flipping upside down with a burst of speed, he smacked right on top of our blue trine mate, canopy clashing against canopy.

:_Aargh—what are you—?_: Thundercracker's startled and slightly pained cry instantly cut into static as both my trine mates suddenly disappeared in a puff of purple smoke. Alarmed, I could only keep flying straight, spark almost freezing in shock at the abruptness by which I found myself alone in the vast sky.

Everything was silent aside from the signature shriek of my engine. I kept traveling at more than three times the speed of sound, not knowing what else to do but to wait in rising anxiousness. My wings trembled. I was nervous. My processors were almost on stall as I agitatedly hoped that my trine mates would reappear soon.

How could I have consented to such a bad idea? Skywarp had to be completely glitched to come up with something as preposterous and downright stupid as teleporting in jet-mode with Thundercracker in tow in midair, at top speed no less.

Terrified at the prospect of losing a trine mate because of the idiocy of another, I was half a klik from comm.-ing Nightfire when a loud "crack" jolted me from my tense stupor.

Skywarp reappeared with Thundercracker several wingspans below me. They turned in the air a few times in joint barrel rolls, propelled by their wings, before Skywarp untangled himself and fixed his form upright. Thundercracker continued to travel, as if pulled by a string connected to his nosecone, and wobbled in various unstable swirling motions, flying further and further away. At first, both Skywarp and I were bewildered by our blue trine mate's behaviour. It was not until Thundercracker transformed back to base-mode and started to fall that we realized something was wrong.

Cursing in my processors, I instantly went after him, hurtling down at full speed. Skywarp let out a sharp holler, and followed my lead. However, he did not wait to chase, and vanished with a "pop". Materializing below Thundercracker, he transformed, and caught our falling trine mate in his arms.

Transforming as well, I blasted my thrusters downward to reach a hover, and hurriedly checked for any sign of injury on Thundercracker's frame. I could not see anything external, and worry grew even heavier on my spark.

What if Thundercracker had lost his fuel pump or something of equal importance during his unstable inter-dimension travel!

Scowling at Skywarp, my temper flared.

"You crazy glitch of an idiot!" I screamed at top volume, and pointed at his faceplate accusingly, "You didn't even have a firm hold on him as you teleported!"

"I-I thought the force of our rolling was enough!" Spluttering and floating backward, away from my offensive gestures, Skywarp's brow ridges knitted together in a frown fear and guilt.

"You thought? You _thought_?" I shrieked even louder, vocalizer threatening to crack into static, "You should've thought about your inability to think, you imbecile!"

"B-B-But I—" Distress overtaking his features, Skywarp fought to defend himself. Before he could, Thundercracker let out a strangled groan, and onlined his optics.

"TC!" Skywarp called out with a loud gasp from his intakes, "Y-You're okay! Oh thank Primus!" Visibly sagging with relief, he hugged Thundercracker closer, and almost bounced in the air before another groan stopped his silly actions.

"TC? What's wrong?" I floated closer, leaning over and trying to catch his unfocused optics.

"Oh slag…" Thundercracker let out a hissed whisper, faceplate in a grimace, "I'm so…_dizzy_…"

"Are you hurt anywhere?" I immediately asked, glancing at Skywarp only to give him a glare of blame.

"I…I don't think so…" Rubbing his faceplate sluggishly, Thundercracker mumbled, "I…I'm just…very dizzy…"

"Still, you should see a medic," I sighed through my vents, and cut in before he could protest, "Skywarp and I will take you to the med bay right away." Giving Skywarp another heated, pointed stare, I began to descend, and irately motioned at the purple idiot to follow when he only hovered and stared.

"…I'm sorry…" Came a murmur as Skywarp lowered his helm, and started to slowly descend as well.

"Don't worry about it, 'Warp…" Thundercracker's voice held a smile, and I pressed my lips tightly into a displeased line.

"He _should_ worry about it." A terse remark from me ended our conversation, and the rest of the trip down to my tower was spent in silence.

"I'm alright, really," Thundercracker tried to object when Skywarp refused to let him walk to the med bay by himself after we landed on the flight deck. "I'm just a little disoriented."

"A _little_?" I echoed, crossing my arms when his optics failed to properly find mine. "You can't even figure out where I am."

"Yeah, TC," Skywarp laughed a little, though his faceplate still bore a shadow of concern, "It was my fault, so lemme take care of you."

"Then hurry up!" Turning on my heels, I shouted at the purple aft, and walked toward my tower. I knew I should not have been so snappish, but I was more than a little annoyed. I had hoped to fly more with my trine, but Skywarp just had to come up with a stupid idea and cut our flight time short. Why did I even allow this to happen in the first place? It was so frustrating!

The medics looked up in confusion when the three of us entered the med bay. Noticing Thundercracker's silent and prone form in Skywarp's arms, they immediately came forward, and directed Skywarp to place him on one of the medical berths. After the standard procedure of running preliminary scans, they reassured us that there was nothing wrong with our blue trine mate's vitals, and proceeded to connect him to various medical equipments.

"His equilibrium chip is giving out all kinds of random signals," The Head Medic of Vos, a Stealth Jet by the designation of Pristinus, murmured, and glanced at me with a curious glint in his optics.

"_That_ would be the work of a certain stupid slagger who thought it was a good idea to teleport another Seeker while flying at more than three times the speed of sound." I sent another glare at Skywarp, who shriveled ashamedly.

Pristinus remained silent for a few moments, and glanced back and forth between Skywarp and I before making a noncommittal hum. He nodded, and turned his attention back to Thundercracker.

"I will need to run a few detailed tests, but there does not seem to be any pressing concerns. However, I must insist that you remain in a prone position for the rest of the cycle, which means no active duties at all." The white Stealth Jet's voice remained smooth and even as he instructed, but he purposely paused to give my blue trine mate a firm stare, as though anticipating protests. When none came, his expression immediately softened into a pleased smile, and he gently patted Thundercracker's right wing. "You may choose to either stay here, or return to your quarters afterwards. Your system will work out the scrambled codes, but just in case there are problems we aren't aware of at the moment, we will take the time to be careful, alright?"

Thundercracker nodded, and stayed still as he was connected to more medical machines.

"How's Firechaser doing, by the way?" I asked, peering over at the berth Firechaser had previously occupied.

"He's recovering at a steady pace, your Highness," Pristinus answered, but he did not look up from the screens displaying Thundercracker's results, being the very few exempt from having to participate in courtesy practices when addressed by me. "He is still currently being closely monitored in the recovery chambers. However, there haven't been any serious complications." My Head Medic tapped a few buttons on a data pad he held in his hands, and, as he finished, turned toward me, features wearing a glad, though slightly sorrowful smile. "Given the circumstances, I would say Firechaser is a very fortunate Seeker to have survived such an ordeal."

"Indeed." I nodded, and sighed through my vents. Deciding to leave the medics to their jobs, I went to the side of the med bay, and sat down in one of the chairs. While there was no real need for me to linger, I still had several breems of free time left before my next scheduled engagement, and I intended to spend them with my trine regardless of their conditions. Skywarp stayed at Thundercracker's side, and watched the medics with curious optics as they wandered around, sometimes probing our blue trine mate with different scanners and such. A comfortable silence settled, and I leaned against the backrest, optics offlining. A full breem passed, and I almost dozed off. However, before my recharge protocols fully activated, the peace in the med bay was disrupted by a beep from the intercom.

"Head Medic Pristinus, sir," A voice rang through, "Alert code-zero: Patient Firechaser is awake. I repeat: patient Firechaser is awake."

For a moment, everyone in the med bay froze. My optics onlined, and I felt them widen in surprise. I was told that Firechaser would not wake for at least another two cycles or so, and a quick glance at Pristinus told me that he had not expected this either. The Stealth Jet was the quickest at snapping out of shock, and, with large, but light strides, he immediately went to the intercom, and pressed the call button in reply.

"Acknowledged. I'm on my way." Turning toward me, he bowed low in apology, "I'm afraid I cannot personally treat Thundercracker, your Highness. However, the assistant medics are more than capable of taking care of his conditions."

"I'll be fine," Thundercracker mumbled in response, optics dimmed, "I think I just need to lie down for a bit."

"And I'll stay here with him," Skywarp keenly added, and stood dutifully beside Thundercracker's medical berth, a hand absentmindedly rubbing our blue trine mate's wing.

"Very well," I nodded, and got up from my seat. "I will go with you to Firechaser, Pristinus."

"Affirmative, Sire." Motioning toward the door with an upturned hand, the medic gave another small bow, "After you."

I quickly left the med bay with my Head Medic in tow. We did not speak, and were swift as we made our way. We walked through the doors leading to the recovery chamber, and the flat, heavy silence that greeted us was extremely unnerving. My optics swept across the vast room, and instantly spotted Firechaser, who was half-propped up on one of the berths. Along with two nurse bots, Nightfire and Firechaser's creators surrounded the berth, and the confusion, worry, and dismay in their optics instantly chilled my spark. My steps hesitated, but Pristinus rushed forward on light peds. His movement jolted me out of my small pause, and I followed after him, steeling my resolve.

"_Why_ is he not monitored?" My Head Medic demanded, looking between the two nurse bots, and the harshness behind his voice made my wings shiver. Pristinus rarely raised his voice, and when he did, it usually meant something bad was happening.

"Firechaser started to panic as soon as he noticed the cables plugged into him, sir," One of the nurse bots answered hastily, "He was endangering himself and those around him, but we didn't want to restrain him, so we thought—"

"-Yes, yes, yes," Pristinus waved his nurses aside, and immediately started scanning Firechaser's frame. For several kliks, the only sound in the room was the low humming of Pristinus's scanners as he examined Firechaser. Everyone held their intakes, watching the proceedings with attentive optics. I glanced at Nightfire, but he did not even seem to notice that I was standing right beside him. Biting back a sigh, my optics once again focused on Firechaser, who had not spoken a word nor moved a single digit since my arrival.

The young Seeker was completely motionless on the berth, faceplate expressionless as he stared blankly forward, lips relaxed and slightly parted. He did not look to be in pain…or to be much of anything really. He simply sat there, and did not flinch once even when Pristinus's scans swept right over his onlined optics. Now that I took a closer look, it would appear that most of his plating had been replaced by lighter metal of higher quality, one suitable for the Seeker frame type. Though mostly gray and dull, his body no longer carried any obvious, gaping injuries, and the lack of wounds offered a little comfort to one's spark. There was no doubt in my processors that he was functioning at adequate levels. However, the lifeless, hollow glow behind his gaze remained, and it was making my back-strut bristle with discomfort.

"…There are no abnormalities in his systems that I can pick up with my scanners," Pristinus leaned back a little, and straightened as he voiced his conclusion. Every flier in the room cycled air through his vents in relief, and my wings lowered minutely from their agitated, high perk. I raised a hand, and gently placed it on Nightfire's arm. The Space Shuttle jumped a little, and jerked his helm toward me in startled surprise.

"Sire," He whispered, optics a little widened.

"Hello, Nightfire," I greeted him in softly, and offered him a small smile. He bowed his head, and shakily tried to smile back. It was forced and awkward at best, but it was a start. Nodding back, I returned my attention to my Head Medic and his patient. Pristinus was trying to prompt a reaction out of Firechaser, but the Seeker did not seem to know that he was being spoken to.

"Firechaser, I am Pristinus, the Head Medic of Vos." The Stealth Jet spoke in a warm, soothing tone, and gazed into Firechaser's optics for any emotional response. He carefully placed his hands around Firechaser's shoulders, and wore such a friendly smile on his faceplate that his entire demeanor radiated comfort and encouragement. "You are home now, Firechaser. You are safe. Your creators are here. Would you like to speak with them?" As if on cue, Firechaser's creators shuffled a little closer. Their brow ridges furrowed in concern, but their optics shined hopefully.

"Firechaser?" One of them called out tentatively, and watched his creation's faceplate with a wavering smile, "Can you hear me?"

Firechaser remained unresponsive, staring ahead.

Pristinus frowned, and turned back to the nurses.

"Did he say anything when he woke up?" He asked quietly.

"No, sir," One of them answered, shaking his helm, "None of the monitors reported any activity, so it was a surprise to all of us when his optics onlined. We tried to speak to him, but he did not acknowledge us. He just looked down at his frame, and started thrashing and screaming, which was when we contacted you." The nurse exchanged an uneasy glance with his coworker. "He started to pull at the medical cables, so we figured that they were the source of his anxiety. We quickly disconnected all of them, and he calmed down."

"He's been like this ever since, sir," The other nurse explained, "We all tried to speak to him, but nothing worked."

Pristinus nodded, expression grim but thoughtful.

"Keep a close optic on him at all times, and begin to feed him small rations of energon once every four joors," My Head Medic instructed, "There are other ways for him to receive energy, but we need to kick-start his systems, starting with his fuel intake. However, if he has any negative reactions to the energon, stop feeding at once and report to me directly." Running another scan over Firechaser's helm, Pristinus paused his speech in thought. "I'm not catching any hardware complications, which means his processors should be fine. We will temporarily place his other systems at higher priority. His cognitive functions can wait."

"B-But—…You're just going to—going to leave him like this?" One of Firechaser's creators asked, leaning forward insistently, "He can't continue on as he is!"

"And he won't," Pristinus's voice was firm as he replied, but his optics held reassurance. "His processors might simply be purging scrambled or fragmented coding, which is something we can confirm after he returns to recharge, since he most definitely will not take kindly to medical cables at the moment." The medic explained patiently, "Please be aware that even after he regains his cognitive functions, he will be very confused, and will very possibly suffer severe memory loss. However, both are expected symptoms of trauma, so please do not be alarmed."

Firechaser's creators shared a glance, clutching each other's hands. They turned back to studying their creation's faceplate, and peered into his blank optics imploringly as though hoping to reach him by their already severed creator-sparkling bond.

"Might his memory loss be permanent?" I broke the uncomfortable silence that hung in the recovery chamber, wing joints tense, "I need Firechaser to recount the events of his disappearance."

For a long moment, Pristinus did not reply. He looked back at me politely, but his lips were pursed in a way that was most worrying for my thumping spark. "…His memory bank has not been corrupted beyond unsalvageable, your Highness, so no, his memory loss should only be temporary," He answered, mannerism completely professional. However, as he opened his mouth to carry on speaking, an unreadable glint entered his optics, and he paused, brow-ridges dipping into a frown.

The tense silence that followed was most maddening.

"…What?" I quickly inquired. "What is it?"

"Well…" The medic gave Firechaser a fleeing glance. "Given…the circumstances," He answered slowly, enunciating every syllable at a pace that made my spark most anxious with impatience, "Firechaser might not be able to remember until…a very long time later, your Majesty."

"How long?" I pressed on.

"It's…very hard to say." Pristinus turned to fully face me, and bent in a low bow, "I'm sorry I cannot do more, Sire."

My intakes hitched with a frustrated hiss, and I gritted my dentae in frustration.

"That is not the answer I need, Pristinus," I placed both hands on the medical berth, and leaned forward insistently. "Is his memory loss permanent?" I repeated, voice assertive and demanding.

Pristinus remained in his bow. "That might be likely, your Highness." His words carried significant weight. "It's possible that Firechaser simply does not want to remember."

The tension and dread in the air was so thick that it left an almost physical pressure against my wings. My hands slowly curled into hard fists, and my optics narrowed.

"…Is it possible to hack into his memory banks and retrieve the necessary memory files?"

Nightfire's wings gave a violent jerk as both he and Firechaser's creators abruptly turned toward me, gasping in shock.

"S-Starscream!" Nightfire choked out, optics wide in disbelief and incredulity, but I gave him no acknowledgment.

"Is it possible to hack into his memory banks, Pristinus?" I repeated, ignoring the looks of dismay Firechaser's family members were sending me, and kept my optics locked on those of my Head Medic in grave determination.

"Under your command, your Highness, affirmative, it is." Pristinus answered in stark honesty, and Firechaser's creators immediately cried out in protest.

"You can't be serious!" The Space Shuttle, presumably Firechaser's sire creator, wore an incensed expression of protective anger. "How can you even _suggest_ such heinousness!" He shouted, and the fact that he was directly antagonizing his Crown Prince did not seem to cross his processors at all. "No one will touch my creation as long as I function!"

"Is there no other way?" Firechaser's Seeker creator looked to Pristinus instead, optics pleading and frantic, "You said he might regain his memories, right?" He shook his helm, intakes spluttering as his voice rose as well. "For Primus's sakes, he'd just woken up and already you're talking about dissecting his processors?"

I ignored their antics, and tuned out their shouts.

"Good," I nodded to Pristinus, "If Firechaser's condition does not improve, prepare appropriate procedures." I straightened up, and clenched my hands by my sides. "I need confirmation on the identity of the perpetrator responsible for his capture to ensure I make the right choice, for the future of our people."

Pristinus nodded, his loyalty to me as Crown dictating him to follow my order without question. However, his wings trembled visibly, telling me that he was quite deeply distraught. I knew he did not want to perform such procedures. It conflicted horribly with his work ethics as a medic. Slag, I did not want him to do such a thing either, but I really needed to know, for _absolute certainty_, whether the Autobots were behind this crime or not, and that if they were, in fact, developing anti-flight weaponry.

I trusted Skywarp's words, but I needed to hear things first hand from Firechaser to understand the full scale of the situation before I make a public address to my city. If Firechaser was incapable of remembering what had happened due to mental blocks on his memory banks, I was willing to partake unorthodox ways to get the evidence I needed.

Without another word, I turned on my heels, and walked out of the recovery chamber. Firechaser's creators took a few steps to run after me, still in furious protest, but Nightfire seemed to have stopped them.

"I will speak to Prince Starscream," I heard Nightfire whisper quietly. "I'm sure there is another way." His tone sounded sure, and, for a moment, even I believed he could somehow miraculously make appear more options for me to choose from. However, I knew Nightfire only gave Firechaser's creators an empty promise to placate them, and the thought threatened to drag down the proud arch of my wings.

The doors slid closed behind me, and all voices vanished to silence. I sighed through my vents, and took a moment just to rub my faceplate. For a long while, I simply stood there, stewing in thoughts and worries over the future of my city. A ping from my personal comm.-line jolted me out of my contemplative stupor, and I quickly shook my helm, dispelling all lingering thoughts as I began my way to my scheduled meeting. I walked down the hall, and opened the comm.-request without care. It was probably from the advisor I was booked to see, since I was already a few breems late. To my surprise, someone else came through instead, and his voice made my wings visibly twitch on my back.

:_Starscream,_: Megatron spoke evenly, the deep, rough texture of his voice pleasant on my auditory receptors.

:_Megatron,_: I replied at a softer volume, still a little wary of him since our last encounter. My wings gave another twitch, and I felt the need to rub my faceplate again.

:_We need to meet,_: He went straight to the point, wasting no time on greetings.

:_Why?_: I grumbled, :_Is it urgent?_: I would rather not have to leave Vos unless I had to.

:_It is important._: He did not elaborate, and I outright scoffed with a terse huff.

:_Of course it is._: I sounded awfully bitter, but I really did not give a slag at that point. Thundercracker was in the med bay. Skywarp was an idiot. Firechaser might never regain his memories, and I might very well lose a friend in Nightfire just because there was no other way to know for sure what had happened to his youngest family unit member. The Autobots were planning something, and it was very possibly to invade. I had no way of knowing what our odds of winning were because of the many unknown variables enveloping the situation in fog, and my whole city was practically skulking around on tip-toes due to the increase of guards that I had issued. On top of everything already listed, a ground pounder from Kaon was telling me to drop all my duties by his wishes alone to pay him a visit, and it was all so _frustrating_ because I really did want to see him but I knew that I should not because I was—

I abruptly hit a stop in my steps, freezing in tension in the middle of the corridor. My intakes hitched loudly as it cycled air, and my shoulders shivered, as did my wings. My jaw joints were bitten down, and my fingers dug into my palms. I simply stood there, staring intently at the floor, and pretended to not notice the curious optics of my interior guards.

:_…Starscream?_: Megatron inquired, breaking the long silence that elapsed between us. There was an odd note in his voice, but I was too overwhelmed by my thoughts to interpret its meaning. I did not answer him, opting to count the cycling of my intakes instead. Once I had finally calmed down to a manageable degree, I resumed my walking, and accessed my schedule roster.

:_I cannot give you an exact time when I am available, Megatron._: I spoke as though I had not paused at all, and grimaced when I saw just how full my next deca-cycle was going to be. I had no free time whatsoever, and I was not keen on the idea of cutting precious recharge time just to see an ex-gladiator. :_However,_: I sighed,:_if any of my meetings conclude early, I will contact you._:

:_Find time soon._: He took my behaviour in stride, though he sounded a little disgruntled. I sent an annoyed huff through my vents, and felt a familiar sneer curling my lips.

:_I am your _ally_, Megatron, not your subordinate._: I reminded him peevishly, but he seemed to have decided to dismiss my statement altogether.

:_I expect your contact shortly._: He simply said, and, growing even more irritated, I snapped back:

:_That will depend on _my_ time._:

Not waiting for him to reply, I cut off our transmission, and fumed silently as I stomped up the stairs to my next meeting.

The stupid slagger thought he could boss me around just because he was a brute and could overpower me on the ground? Fine. I was going to make sure none my meetings ended sooner than their allotted time just to spite his arrogant aft.

Suddenly feeling a lot better, I allowed a smirk to adorn my lips, and took a moment to straighten my back. Perking up my wings, I keyed open the door to the conference room of my meeting, and shook off all effects of the cycle's unfavourable events. I was fully prepared to make the meeting last as long as it could, for once ready to tackle a joor of boredom.

My fliers needed their Crown Prince to be strong, and strong I would be.

* * *

><p>XI<p>

The meeting barely lasted ten breems, and, irritated and grumbling, I comm.-ed Skywarp to meet me in our common trine quarters. I really should inform my advisors that, rather than booking a joor of my time, all matters taking only a few moments to solve should be done over comm. Huffing irately, I sent Megatron a ping, and made a face when his voice came on:

:_What is it?_:

:_What do you think?_: I spoke snappishly, scrunching my nose bridge. :_My meeting ended early, so I'm coming over._:

:_I'm busy right now._: He sounded distracted, and I immediately felt indignation swell in my spark.

:_You're busy?_ _You're the one who told me to contact you as soon as I have time!_: My plating practically bristled, and my hands clenched into fists. :_You should be honoured that I'm even considering visiting you at your slaghole of a base, Megatron! Don't you dare brush me off!_:

I expected an annoyed growl, or a hiss of a flinch, but he said nothing. He did not acknowledge me in the slightest, and his line went completely silent.

:…_You'd better not have hung up on me, Megatron!_: I warned, features pulling into a scowl. My voice seemed to echo in our comm.-line, and still, he said nothing.

Hands curling into tighter fists, I bit my jaws, and my optics narrowed to slits.

:_Megatron!_: I screamed his designation, and felt such sweet, proud satisfaction when he finally responded after a static-whisper of a pained hiss.

:_Not now, Starscream!_:

:_I don't care if you're busy – I will not be ignored!_: I was quick to reply, nearing my trine's common quarters. Tapping in the pass-code, I entered the room, and saw Skywarp peering over curiously at me from his berth. :_I'm with Skywarp now._: I announced, and hastened to end our conversation, :_I'm coming over, so you'd better be ready for me!_:

Megatron sounded incredibly annoyed when he next spoke, but all I cared about was that he conceded.

:_Skywarp will teleport you to the main command center of my base._: He instructed, voice gruff,:_Soundwave will receive you and bring you to me._:

:_Good._: I severed our line, and felt quite pleased with the arrangement. I knew I was being a hindrance, but that was the point. I went about my cycle at my own convenience, and I did not care if I was being a bother to some insignificant ground pounder. Besides, Megatron should be flattered that I was wasting my free time with him in the first place.

"Megatron wants to talk to me, so we're going to Kaon." I explained to Skywarp as he hopped off from his berth, "He specifically said for us to teleport to his command center."

"You're really taking this alliance thing seriously, aren't you," Skywarp flashed me a wide grin, for some reasons happy about the whole thing, "Answering to his beck and call and all."

"I am _not_ answering to his beck and call!" I shot back with a sneer of disgust.

"Could'a fooled me," Skywarp lifted one of his brow ridges as he walked over. "I thought you had a meeting that's supposed to be happening right now?"

"I did." I stated, "It finished early."

Skywarp stopped in front of me, and continued to look skeptical. His brow ridge remained arched, and he quirked his helm to the side, casting me a disbelieving stare. Upon seeing his expression, I immediately grew aggravated, and felt a rising need to justify myself. "I'm not brushing my duties away just to see him if that's what you're thinking!" I snapped at him, and stuck out my chassis, daring him to say otherwise.

For a moment, the purple nuisance only studied me, looking stupidly thoughtful. "I'm not thinking that," He eventually decided to say, and only grinned wider, optics glittering as though there was a joke that I was not catching up on. The resulting overwhelming urge to punch him was immediate, and I sneered up at him, wings twitching agitatedly on my back.

"Are you going to teleport me to Kaon or not!" My voice rose to an angry pitch, and I shouted, stomping down a thruster.

"Okay, Okay, calm your circuits," The slagger laughed, and carelessly threw his arms around my shoulders. "Why are you so fragged off all the time, Screamer?"

"Because I have an idiot like you as a trine mate, _obviously_," I scowled, and added in a hiss: "An idiot who'd put my other trine mate in danger."

Just as expected, Skywarp's cheek plates glowed in embarrassment. He looked away awkwardly, and rubbed at his nose bridge with a finger. "…TC's gonna be fine…" He grumbled, and pressed his lips into a pout.

Huffing with my vents, I sent him a glare, but decided to drop the subject. Thundercracker _was_ going to be fine, and Skywarp was adequately ashamed of his utter stupidity, which was good enough for me, at least for the moment.

"…Well? What in the pits are you waiting for! We haven't got all cycle," Giving his cockpit a slap, I wrapped my arms around him. "Hurry up!"

"Y'know…" Skywarp winced, and tightened his arms around me. "Sometimes I really don't know why I put up with a little glitch like you…" He mumbled as he activated his warping system, and any sharp retorts I had was swallowed by the distorting vacuum that pulled us from one place to another.

We landed in the command center of Megatron's underground base, and I instantly shoved Skywarp away with a heated snarl and glare. The slagger only snickered, optics twinkling, and jumped a few steps back while Soundwave made his way toward us.

"Crown Prince Starscream, Seeker Skywarp: Greetings." The blue grounder's voice was just as boring as I remembered, which hardly helped my mood.

"Where's Megatron?" I asked snappishly, in no patience for pleasantries.

"Current location of Commander Megatron: Training room," Soundwave gestured to the door with a bow. "Please follow me."

I nodded once, and Soundwave began to lead the way. So that was why Megatron had been distracted over comm. – he was sparring with other mechs. I sure hoped he got punched in the faceplate when I broke his concentration. Tickled at the thought, I bit back a laugh, and my wings flicked up and down. Skywarp sent me a curious glance, but I pointedly ignored his inquiring optics, and followed after Soundwave.

After numerous winding corridors and passageways, we reached a pair of large doors. Even though they were closed, I could hear the sound of heavy ground pounders in combat vibrating through them. The mech sitting at the entrance of the training room looked up as we approached him, but he did not say a word. Soundwave merely gave him a nod, and went straight to the keypad to enter the pass-code. The doors made a loud hissing noise as a blast of cold air was released, and my wings jerked minutely in response, flight sensors tingling. The sound of hard hits denting thick plating instantly became louder when the doors slid apart, and Soundwave, bowing, politely stepped to the side. He made a gesture of invitation, and intoned in customary, flat voice:

"Please enter."

As if I needed him to tell me. I made a small face, and passed through the entrance. Sweeping my optics over the room, I quickly realized that it was a miniature gladiator arena, the only feature absent being rolls after rolls of balconies for onlookers to sit in. The ventilation system here was much better, almost excellent. The temperature was significantly lower, and it was probably kept that way to cool down heating circuits. Despite its chill, the air was not uncomfortable. It was quite refreshing, in fact, compared to the constant heat suffocating every crevice in Kaon.

There were currently five mechs on the fighting platform, but none of them held any weapons, presumably because the intention here was not to kill. It took barely an instance for me to spot Megatron, who was locked in a battle of sheer strength with another grounder approximately the same size as he was. Their hands were tightly clenched together, and they were trying to force the other back, neither budging in the slightest. It was unclear how long they had been in this stalemate, but judging by the expression on their faceplates, it must have been quite a long time.

Megatron's optics were flashing wildly, and his lips were pulled into a snarl, dentae gritted and bared. The other mech wore a similar expression, but his optics were not as bright, not as feral. Their frames trembled with exertion, two strong forces colliding head on with neither willing to give. The tension in their joints was so great that I wondered for a moment whether they would snap if any more pressure was placed on them.

Megatron's optics made an exceptionally fiery flare, and he suddenly advanced forward. It was hardly a significant distance, barely half a wingtip, but the massive wave of hot air blasting out of his vents indicated that it took an extremely large amount of effort to move even the slightest bit. That was to be expected, I supposed, since his opponent was bulkier than he was. Having a greater mass was definitely an advantage in a deadlock of brute strength, but I knew Megatron was not about to lose.

My optics glided over my ground pounder's form, keenly keeping note of its every straining movement. Even the minutest of motions was captivating, and every other sensation quickly melted away, falling to the background as my entire being was once again captured by my gladiator. Waves after waves of heat rose from his heavy, dense plating, and its temperature so great that, even from my position on the sidelines, I could feel its touch…hot and blistering against my flight sensors.

His frame was being pushed to its utmost limits and beyond, forced by will alone to stay strong, to move onward. His peds were firm against the hard metal of the fighting platform, and his thick, solid thighs were parted in an unshakable stance, joints locked and secured. The cables in his joints visibly flexed as he held his ground against the seemingly immovable mountain that was his opponent, and his engine rumbled deep and low. I did not know how long the two of them had been caught in this standstill, but I knew that, by now, it had already become a battle of sheer determination.

My spark quivered in my spark chamber, and my core grew hot. Megatron was most magnificent in this element, drenched in strength and glory with his paint scratched, plating heated, and faceplate pulled into an ugly expression of relentless resolve for victory. I greedily drank in the sight of his rough, imperfect frame, saving to my memory banks the every fault of his body. There has always been something raw and broken about him that I absolutely hungered for, that I absolutely savoured. He was very much like the coarsest form of energon he once mined from the deepest pits of Cybertron: dangerous, potent, and so easily combustible.

Megatron's optics abruptly gave a piercing flash, and crackling sparks shot out from their edges, framing the red-tinted glass. His lips parted, and an explosive roar erupted deep from his chassis: a loud cry heralding a vicious surge of strength that gained him a large step forward, driving his opponent back. The other mech's stance was instantly broken, and he stumbled, balance destroyed. He was helpless. He was the weaker. He stood no chance as Megatron gave him another rough shove, and he toppled over, tripping over his peds.

The bulkier mech landed on his back with a short cry of surprise, and he looked up at my ground pounder, plain shock abundant on his faceplate. Megatron towered over him, hard fists down by his sides, but he did not taunt nor boast, merely looking at his downed opponent. He did not celebrate the victory he rightfully earned. He did not appear to be pleased or displeased. His expression had mostly changed to that of impassive indifference, but his slightly narrowed optics continued to shine with fierceness. He stood tall, posture befitting of his title as commander, and his cooling fans whirred very audibly, the only sound in the now completely silent chamber.

Heat rolled off of his massive body, almost visible in the cool, chilled air. Condensation formed on his coarse, scratched plating, tiny beads of moisture glistening under the little light in the room. A burning sensation prickled over my sensor net then, and it gathered, pooling deep in my core. My intakes made a quiet, shivering splutter, and my thighs shook, squeezing gently together. Memory files resurfaced, and along with them came the phantom sensations of thick fingers grasping painfully around the edges of my wings. The burning throb in my core instantly flared in response, and I gasped, a needy, wet clench deep inside me desperate for those very same fingers to stroke.

I bit my lips, and carefully regulated the cycling of my intakes. I wiggled slightly, and my thruster heels made small clicking sounds against the floor. Megatron instantly turned in my direction. His gaze, scorching in intensity, slowly roamed over my frame before finally reaching my optics. I involuntarily shook, and I had to forcefully keep myself in check, fighting back another overwhelming wave of desire that washed over my body as my spark positively swelled behind my heaving canopy.

Alright, Starscream…Calm yourself…

I licked my lips.

Now…was hardly the right time to be thinking about spreading your legs for a ground pounder…

My wings twitched.

…But _slag_ was it tempting…

"Is our alliance worth less to you than a brawl against a dense chunk of metal?" A familiar sneer formed on my faceplate, and I spoke with disdain, optics narrowed. Clearing my clouded processors with a quick shake of helm, I slowly sauntered over to my ground pounder, and tilted up my chin in challenge and superiority. With a small boost of my thrusters, I floated onto the platform, and landed lightly on my peds. A smirk immediately formed on my faceplate, and I walked toward my mech, steps measured to accentuate my perfect form in every movement

Megatron watched me closely as I made my way toward him. His optics glanced at my swaying, red hips, and the other grounders immediately took a few steps back to allow me passage. All of them looked at me with visible interest, though they kept such sentiment apparent only in their brightened optics. Only Megatron's ex-opponent regarded me with distaste as he got up from his prone position, undoubtedly unhappy about my unflattering description of him.

I did not stop advancing until I stood right in front of Megatron. I parted my legs in a solid stance, and jutted a hip out to the side. Sneer morphing into a pleased smirk, I slowly tugged up my hands, which had previous remained lax. My fingers trailed over my shapely thighs in a languid, fluid motion, and they slowly felt their way over my creamy, white plating, touch light as a soft breath. They propped up against the curve of my slim hips, and rested daintily over the sides of my rounded rear. Every motion was carefully orchestrated and deliberate, and my spark reeled in exhilaration when the fruits of my effort became nakedly apparent on the faceplates of all within the training room.

I was blatantly flaunting the beauty of my frame to every pair of optics in the room, and I loved it, especially the way Megatron pressed his lips together in obvious displeasure. He was clearly not amused by my antics, optics narrowing close to slits, and the giddiness in my spark grew until my smirk became a full grin. My wings fanned out higher on my back, and his displeasure increased in magnitude. I almost burst into mirthful laughter at his behaviour. My trip was worth the trouble after all.

Megatron must have caught the glimmer of laughter in my optics, for he made a graceless grunt with his vocalizer, and cast me a look that spoke volumes on how unimpressed he was by my pettiness. "Our alliance is only worth its benefits, Starscream." He answered simply, and turned until he faced me directly. His expression returned to its previous impassiveness, and he kept his posture neutral, seemingly unmoved by my flirtatious display.

"And what exactly are _those_, mighty Megatron?" I purred, voice in a soft, sweet lilt. "I do wonder…" I quirked my helm coyly to the side, and dared to gift him with a hithering, amorous gaze, "…about the _benefits_ you speak of…"

He did not answer right away, looking back at me intently. One of his fists made such a small twitch that I had almost missed it, but I had caught it, being keen and watchful. Once again, the urge to laugh threatened to break the radiance of my charm. The corners of my lips quivered, and he instantly noticed my rising delight, tensing to stillness.

"…Benefits," He finally replied after a long silence, voice low and flat in tone, "that are severely lacking at the moment."

The offense of such remark caused an immediate reaction. My wings violently jolted, and my spark instantly seized in rising infuriation. How dare he make such a belittling statement? He was lucky I decided to show him any charm at all! The ungrateful fragger, he should be helm over peds that I was gracing him with my presence in the first place, let alone allowing him sight of my frame!

Scowling up at the insolent ground pounder, I glared, and, right away, became snappish.

"You haven't given me any benefits either, Megatron!" I started to yell, "Why should I waste my time visiting you when you offer me no incentive to do so at all?"

Instead of matching my voice in volume, Megatron only watched me fume, features betraying no specific emotion. "Your incentive, Starscream, is to answer when I have need of you." He answered, calm and almost bored, and I grew even more offended, wings hiking up higher on my back with a harsh jerk.

"I _told_ you: I am _not_ your subordinate!" I shouted at him, swinging up an arm to point rudely at his faceplate. "How many times do I have to repeat it to you before your slow, decaying processors can understand? We are in an _alliance_. I am your _ally_! I do _not_ answer your call whenever you find convenient. I answer only to myself! If I wanted to, I can end this right here, right now, and there is absolutely nothing you can do about it, you hear me? I am in no obligation to do anything for you, and if you don't start treating me like the valuable ally that I am, then I see no point in continuing this useless alliance!"

By the end of my tirade, my voice had reached a full shriek. Cooling fans whirring at top speed, I waited impatiently and expectantly for an apology from the damned slagger, or, at the very least, a show of respect that I deserved. However, I realized with rising indignation, he was not listening to me, or even looking at my faceplate. He was looking off to the side, optics glued to some unseen object behind me. My wings flicked faster, movements jerky and uneven. I was half a klik from swirling around to find out just what had captured his attention so avidly when one of his hands abruptly shot up, and suddenly pinched around the tip of my right wing with callous fingers.

A sharp, stinging stab of pain shot through my system, and I cried out, joints stiffening in response. I had every intention of retaliating, but he chose that moment to pull on my wing by its tip, and I squealed like a sparkling, helplessly dragged forward on shaky thrusters. This was much worse than any attack on the wing joints or the edges. The tips were one of the most sensitive parts of a flier's body. The essential clusters of neural nodes situated there were what fliers depended on to navigate the air, which meant that its receptiveness to any stimuli was more fine-tuned than any other parts of the wing. Megatron pulled me forward by my right wing tip alone, and I had no other choice than to follow, whining and whimpering like a defenseless Seekerlet.

"Wh-What are you doing?" My voice rose to a high, frantic screech, "Let go! Let go!"

He did not heed my cries, and merely studied the wing he held with thoughtful interest.

"It _hurts_, you brute!" I began to punch at his chassis and kick at his peds, struggling as well as I could without adding more strain to my wing tip. "What's wrong with you? Let go of me this instance!"

After a lengthy moment of curious silence, he finally made a short, scoffing sound, and abruptly flicked my wing tip away.

"I can never understand how such an obvious weakness can be advantageous." He muttered seemingly to himself, and I would have strangled him with my bare hands if I could.

"What's the matter with you!" I screamed up at him, shaking with humiliation and rage, "Why do you attack me every time we meet? Do you enjoy it, you sick, twisted slagger!" Energon boiled in my fuel lines, and the desire for vengeful violence surged through my system like a spreading flame. "Then try enjoying _this_!" With a loud, high battle-cry, my thrusters activated in a blast, and I shot up, hands grasping for his faceplate.

My fingers itched to tear out his optics. However, before I could reach him, he swiftly back-stepped, and blocked my attack with his arms. With quick precision that I would have never expected from one as large as he was, he grabbed my wrists with his hands, and forcefully swung me toward the ground. He threw me down, and the impact of my collision against the floor winded me so much that I could not make a single sound for several kliks. I could not move, processors swimming in confusion and dizziness, and only watched with bleary optics as he descended upon me from above, kneeling down on one knee and looming over my fallen form.

"I can ask you the same, Starscream." His optics looked extraordinarily bright against the shadow of his hulking bulk, "_Why_ do you insist on provoking me when you clearly know of the consequences?"

"I never provoked you, you slagger!" I tried to shout, but ended up whining pathetically instead. "…You always _hurt_ me…!" My lips quivered, and, to my alarm, coolant began to surface, blurring my vision. I shrunk under his penetrating gaze, and trembled, trying to curl into a small ball. My wings dipped on my back, and I cowered, hugging my cockpit in a protective manner.

For a long moment, Megatron honestly looked like he had no idea what to do with me, completely at loss. It probably would have been quite hilarious in hindsight, but I was too disoriented and sore to appreciate the rare sight of mighty Megatron hesitating in face of some coolant tears. After a few kliks of staring, he heaved a deep sigh through his vents, and made grimace. Reaching around me, he scooped me up with his thick arms, and carefully placed me back on my peds.

I stumbled briefly, falling into him, but immediately pushed away as soon as I was stable on my thrusters. Slapping his arms off from my waist, I quickly skidded back a few steps, and pulled myself together. I ignored the stinging soreness still plaguing my poor wing tip, and growled up at him, lips parting in preparation to give him a piece of my processors. However, he stopped me before I could, cutting me off and ending my tirade before it began.

"There's a matter at hand that requires your attention," He stated, and looked away shortly to motion at one of his grounders to come closer. Irritated at being brushed off, I gave the approaching mech a glare, and tried my best to ignore the visor he wore, which was peering back at me most unnervingly. I gave the newcomer a once-over, and felt my lips curl in condescension. All ground pounders were ugly, especially a certain rust bucket, and this one was of no exception.

"This is Blitzwing, one of my new recruits," Megatron introduced the mech, and gestured in his direction. My optics widened slightly, but they quickly narrowed again, accompanied by the formation of a contemptuous sneer.

"Blitz_wing_?" I crossed my arms, and spat out snidely through my dentae, "There's nothing '_wing_'-worthy about him." Even to my own audials, my voice sounded rude and sharp, but I did not give a slag. What was he, some insignificant crook whose creators wanted him to miraculously grow a pair of extra appendages and flutter around in the sky?

Blitzwing looked extremely uncomfortable to be put under scrutiny, shifting on his peds. He glanced at Megatron, and wore a small frown, but he said nothing in defense of his poorly given designation.

"Blitzwing has an ability that may become exceptionally useful under the right guidance," Megatron continued on as though I had not spoken at all. "Blitzwing is a triple-changer."

"A what?" I made a face, disliking the idea of not knowing something stupid grounders obviously knew about.

To his credit, Megatron made no indication of wanting to rub my lack of knowledge in my faceplate. "A triple-changer, meaning he is able to carry two alt-modes, Starscream." He explained in an even tone of voice, and my optics instantly grew round.

"_Two alt-modes_?" I openly gaped at the mech. I had never heard of such ability before. Since when did ground pounders start carrying two alt-modes?

Megatron gave Blitzwing a curt nod, and Blitzwing dutifully took a few steps back. Immediately, he engaged his transformation sequence, and, before long, in his previously place sat a tank. However, he did not simply stop there. Once in full tank mode, his plating began to shift once more. Within kliks, a large cannon stood on the fighting platform, still and intimidating.

"Amazing…" I whispered before I could stop myself, the scientist in me itching to figure out the schematics behind his transformations. Prompted by the urge to solve the mystery of his strange ability, I took a tiny step forward, and studied the triple-changer with a keenness I could barely contain.

"Quite," Megatron commented, looking at Blitzwing with mild interest as the mech transformed back into base-mode. Once his subordinate had finished, Megatron turned his attention back to me, and his lips parted in address. "I would like your opinion on giving Blitzwing a flight-capable alt-mode, Starscream." He spoke without much fluctuation, and it was all I could do to stare at him in shock.

A flier? Megatron wanted me to turn a ground pounder into a flier?

"…Have your processors glitched?" I replied with utter seriousness, "No matter how unique he is, he's still a ground pounder. It takes much more than the ability to scan two alt-modes to become a flier, Megatron." I frowned, and slowly shook my helm. "No ground pounder can possibly integrate the necessary upgrades for flight – they are simply incompatible." Turning to give Blitzwing another once-over, I pointed at various places on his frame, and explained, "While it may be true that he has panels of plating wide enough to be proper wings, he has no inborn flight system. Even if he can imitate a flier's alt-mode, he won't be able to fly."

"His frame might be more receptive than a standard ground pounder's." Megatron countered quickly, but I was still unconvinced.

"That may be so, but you're asking me to equip him with components completely foreign to his systems, Megatron. I don't know how well that'll work out." I took a few steps forward as I replied, and studied Blitzwing's frame further. To my surprise, even as I negated Megatron's idea, my optics were already catching parts on Blitzwing that could very possibly be modified to become flight compatible.

Sweet Primus above, my processors were already strumming with the ideas of turning a ground pounder into a flier.

"Spare me the details, Starscream. I only need to know if it can be done." I could feel Megatron's optics on me while I circled Blitzwing, thrusters deep in pensive fascination.

"…Perhaps…" I murmured, and reached for the triple-changer. My hand rested on his plating, and he jumped, but he did not otherwise move. Running my fingers over seams and panels, I approximated the mass of his frame, and began to think of an aerial alt-mode for this grounder with a designation for flight.

"He's obviously too heavy to be a Seeker or a Stealth Jet," I gave his plating a small knock, testing its density and thickness. "His frame is sturdy enough to be a Space Shuttle, but he's too small." Looking up, I took an approximate measurement of his height. "It might be possible for him to be a Fighter Jet. However, he has too much bulk." I made a soft hum, and completed a quick assessment of Blitzwing's frame. "He might be able to carry the same jet-type alt-mode of a Striker, but stronger thrusters will probably need to be installed since he's still a lot heavier than the average flier."

Despite my better judgment, excitement began to bubble from my spark. The scientist in me was soaring with elated happiness for a new, interesting project to work on. My wings gave tiny flicks of delight, and I turned to face Megatron, an involuntary smile spreading widely across my faceplate.

"You're very lucky to have me, Megatron, as _I_ happen to be one of the most talented and gifted scientists on this planet." My smile grew into a proud grin, and I stood straighter, hands propped up on my hips. "With my help and ingenuity, Blitzwing just might live up to his designation yet."

Megatron returned my gaze, and matched my enthusiasm with a small, satisfied smirk.

"We will see, Starscream." His optics held a captivating glow, and I felt my spark shiver. A tinge of pleasure floated across my neural system, and my vents made a silent stutter. My abused wing tip continued its throbbing, but, strangely, it stopped feeling so bad. My wings gave an expectant twitch in response, and despite the soreness that resulted in such movements, I felt compelled to place them on exhibition, enticing him with the sight of thin, easily crumbled metal.

"…We will see." Megatron echoed his words, and glanced toward my fragile appendages, as though appraising their worth. With sudden horror and increasing dread, I abruptly realized with no small amount of shock that I wanted his hands on me, and that I wanted his rough maltreatment of my wings.

…I wanted him to force me down, to pin me to the floor without my active consent.

I wanted him to have his way with me, in whichever way he liked, without heeding my wishes or needs.

My intakes hitched, and my spark instantly chilled into an icy clench.

I fought the overwhelming urge to stumble back in dismay, and hurriedly averted my optics.

Primus…What was the matter with me?

What depravity had I fallen into to so explicitly desire such treatment of my person?

I hurriedly averted my optics from the gaze of my ground pounder, and caught sight of Skywarp instead, who had remained on the sidelines throughout this entire encounter, oddly and uncharacteristically silent. The serious, withdrawn frown on his faceplate froze me on the spot, and my wings jerked, movements sharp and ungraceful.

I hastily looked away, and prayed to Primus that he had not realized the perverse deviation of his Crown Prince.

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><p><strong>Notes:<strong> Sorry for the late update! It's that time of the year when exams are aplenty and essays are due, so I've been quite overwhelmed. Luckily, I was allowed small periods of free time over the last week or so, during which I hurried through this chapter. If there are any mistakes, sorry about that. I simply don't have the time to keenly check over everything.

Many thanks once again to everyone who's read/favourited/alerted this story. Special thank-yous to my most cherished reviewers: _lildevchick, Koluno1989, Devlinn Reiko, Ashcola17, Pandablubb, The Happy Shark, ChaosGarden, Krazed Jetformer, Random523, wolf-dream94, Riley, aki, and PwnKage_. Your words of encouragements are greatly appreciated. :/)

Riley: I'm so happy to hear from you again! I thought something had happened to you or your internet. D: Thank you so much for your reviews! They always make me smile. You know, I think you actually made quite a close guess a few chapters back in regards to Firechaser! I remember reading your review (I believe for the chapter where Starscream first hears about Firechaser being missing), and being quite speechless but pleasantly surprised, because you were pretty accurate, haha! I really hope you get an account soon, so I can reply properly to you. Thanks again for the continuous support, and much love!

Now, regarding update of next chapter!

Unfortunately, from now onward, I'm going to be entering the worst time of the school year. I won't be able to work on "Insatiable" simply because it's a more serious project. However, I will be done with absolutely everything (exams and schoolwork-wise) by April 20th, which means more updates afterward, so please be patient with me!

I've come to realize that I'm almost at the 100 mark for reviews! This is quite significant for me, and I would like to give my appreciation to your support in some way. I'm thinking of writing a sidestory/oneshot for the "Insatiable"-arc as thanks, but I'm not really sure what you'd like to see, so please leave me a review with suggestions.

Who would you like me to expand on in the "Insatiable"-verse? (characters limited to those who'd already appeared) What would you like to read about? Let me know, and I'll try my best to produce.

Anyways, I really hope you enjoyed this story thus far, because, starting next update, we enter a new phase in the story. ;)

Please leave me a few words letting me know of what you think of this chapter! Quite a few developments happened, and new characters were introduced. I'd love to hear your thoughts on them. :))

…And I really hope I'm not the only one who wishes Starscream would just jump Megatron already, haha! XD


	10. XII

Disclaimer: This chapter contains dialogues borrowed from "Megatron: Origin", borrowed being the keyword.

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><p>XII<p>

A shrill cry jolted me from recharge, and I groaned, curling into a tight ball on my berth. I had not been getting enough rest as it was. Finally, I managed to sink into recharge, and this happened. Sighing through my vents, I berated myself for thinking such thoughts, as I was sure the one screaming in pain and fear did not deserve my blame.

Firechaser had been becoming progressively worse as each cycle went by. Aside from sitting on the medical berth and staring into space, he often erupted into bouts of terror and violence, optics flashing wildly as he fought against invisible enemies. Pristinus had considered restraining him to the berth, since he was becoming dangerous to himself and those around him. However, the idea was quickly discarded as Firechaser became even more volatile when forced to keep still. Firechaser's creators began to suspect that they were not informed of the full extent of Firechaser's situation, and started to question even Nightfire's honesty. Nightfire, on the other hand, remained silent most of the time, sitting by Firechaser and keeping a close optic on him.

More cries echoed in the hall outside my chambers. I pushed up from my berth, and decided to pay the recovery room a visit. Going into recharge had been difficult for me, and, with the tell-tale signs of ruckus in the background, I knew I was not about to settle down for the night cycle.

Sliding off my berth, I gave my joints a stretch, and left my quarters. Loud voices and fear-filled screams became louder as I walked down the flight of stairs, and made my way to the recovery room. There were sounds of a scuffle, and I hurried my steps, worry rising. Rounding the last corner, I was surprised to find Nightfire crouched down right outside the recovery room's doors, sitting on the floor and frame drenched in shadow.

"Nightfire?" I called out, trotting over, and felt a frown of concern furrowing my brow-ridges. "Are you hurt?"

Nightfire startled a little, and turned his helm toward me. He looked so weary and tired, optics barely making a glow. His wings were low on his back, and did not move even as I knelt down beside him and gave them a comforting pat.

"Star," He smiled a little, "No, I'm not hurt, just exhausted." He sighed through his vents, and averted his gaze. Helm tilting back and resting against the wall, he stared up at the ceiling, and murmured softly, "Sorry to have woken you."

I shook my helm, and sat down beside him.

"Is Firechaser making any progress at all?" I asked when things finally seemed to have calmed down behind the closed doors of the recover chamber.

"I thought he was. I really did." Nightfire lifted a hand, and rubbed his faceplate, optics offlining, "He didn't have any violent episodes for the entire cycle, so we all thought it was a good idea to take him to the nearest takeoff deck for some fresh air. After all, what else would make a flier feel better if not taking a short flight?" He laughed humourlessly, vents making weak huffs. "We decided to take him out during the night cycle because there are fewer fliers in the sky, and everything was going so well…" His optics onlined, but they did not see, staring afar. His faceplate was held no expression as he continued to recount what had happened:

"I carried him to the takeoff deck. His creators were with us, as were the nurses," Nightfire muttered, and I could not tell whether he was talking to me or to himself. "When we reached the takeoff deck, Firechaser seemed to have gained some awareness. His wings twitched when the wind hit them, and his optics grew a little brighter." A whimsical smile appeared on Nightfire's lips for a brief klik, "We were so pleasantly surprised. We all thought he was feeling better." The smile soon lost all of its previous hopeful joy.

"We were wrong."

Nightfire lowered his helm, and stared at his hands. His smile fell, and he almost looked calm. It took me a while to realize that he was simply too tired to feel anything anymore.

"I didn't realize at first that his reactions were far from what I assumed they were," His voice lowered to a whisper, faint and soft. "His creators asked me to take him flying, for a little bit, just around the proximate area, and I agreed. I wasn't even really flying. I was just hovering in the air. I barely took off for longer than a few kliks at most, but Firechaser abruptly got worse.

"He started to tremble. His optics grew so wide. He was terrified, and for a painful moment I thought he was frightened of me, but then I knew." Nightfire bit his lips, and held his hands together limply, "He was afraid of flying, Star. He was terrified because he was flying." Nightfire's words trailed off, and he slowly leaned forward, placing his helm in his hands. "…How can a flier be terrified of _flying_…?" His voice suddenly became strained and desperate. "What could have possibly happened to him that would cause him so much fear of something he was sparked to do…!"

A sharp pain stabbed me in the chassis, accompanied by guilt. Nightfire did not know. No member of Firechaser's family unit knew. Only Pristinus and I were aware of what had truly happened – all of its gruesome details presented to us from the optics of its victim. There was no other way to ensure the identity of the one behind Firechaser's attack. I kept telling myself that there was no other way. But still, regardless, I found it difficult to look at Firechaser's creators in the optics. They have yet acknowledged me after I commanded a memory-bank hacking on Firechaser. Their screams as they were torn from the prone, unconscious form of their creation still rang in my audials every time I set sight upon them.

I did not know how to answer to Nightfire, so I remained silent. I reached behind him, and gave his wings a gentle rub. The commotion inside the recovery room had completely quietened down, and the hall became silent. We sat by each other, simply keeping company until day cycle arrived. Nightfire returned to watching Firechaser, and I went back to my recharge chambers to get ready for morning court.

The cycle passed with nothing out of the ordinary aside from Skywarp's sudden stroke of stupidity, or ingenuity depending on how one looked at it. He had somehow managed to glue the caretaker of Vos's Central Archives to the building's ceiling, based on the rumour of the said caretaker recharging dangling upside down. To be honest, it was really quite impressive, since the caretaker, being a Space Shuttle, was much heavier and bigger than my purple trine mate. However, the caretaker was not amused, and, to placate the fuming, aged flier, I sent Skywarp to the confinement rooms to reflect on his actions.

Night cycle arrived, and I was more than ready for several joors of uninterrupted recharge. However, just as I flopped down rather inelegantly onto my berth, I was alerted of an incoming comm.-request. Huffing in annoyance, I accepted, and grumbled,

:_What is it _now_?_:

:_You are required to make an appearance tonight._: Megatron's voice dispelled any inkling of drowsiness I might have had, and my optics abruptly onlined.

:_What? Why?_: I asked, voice softer than usual. I did not expect him to contact again me so soon. Truthfully, I was not ready for another faceplate to faceplate meeting with him. Since coming to realization of my sickening desire, I had found it difficult to even think about him without feeling a crushing sense of shame. How could I have fallen so far without notice?

:_On this night cycle,_: He replied, answer blunt and straight-forward with no embellishment to soften the impact of his words,:_we declare war._:

I could not speak for several kliks, optics widened to their limits. My lips parted, and they made tiny movements as I tried to formulate a sentence, or even a single word. Even so, for a very long moment, all I could vocalize were strangled, unintelligible sounds.

:_Wh—What?_: I finally managed to choke out, tone sharp and shrill as I scrambled up into a sitting position.

:_Call back your Fighter Jets. Prime has begun to move, but we are ready. I will not allow the Autobots to take the first step in _our_ revolution._: He spoke as though he did not hear my shocked exclamation at all. :_War will ignite on _my_ account._: A hard, bladed edge entered his voice as he half-growled his words.

:_Wh-What are you—?_: I shook my helm, all thoughts of recharge flung out the window. :_Have you ever thought that maybe you should've notified me about this first?_:

:_I am notifying you now._: He answered flatly.

:_That's not what I meant and you know it! …Primus!_: So many questions and thoughts jumped out at me that I was momentarily too overwhelmed to form even snippets of coherency. :_A-And—What—…D-Do you, do you have a—a plan?_:

:_I will inform you of the plan once you arrive at my base._: He continued to sound completely at ease and indifferent, and I was rendered, once again, speechless.

:_…You have a plan, and you never thought to—…to _tell me_?_: I eventually spluttered out, hands clenching into fists. :_What kind of an ally are you!_: I started to shout, snarling and optics narrowing, :_Have you ever thought that maybe I'd appreciate some warning before you declare _our_ war? You can't just drop the news and expect me to immediately do everything you say! I need time to think about this! For Primus's sakes I haven't even—_: I cursed, wings shaking as my processors reeled with an infinite number of reasons attacking the Autobots now was a bad idea. :_…I haven't even made an official announcement to my city yet!_:

Megatron paused.

:_What have you been doing all this time?_: He sounded annoyed, and I wanted to punch him.

:_I'm running a _city_, not a bunch of petty criminals, you dolt! I need careful planning. I need to consult my advisors. For frag's sakes, Megatron, you didn't even ask me if I _wanted_ to declare war yet! You can't just make decisions by yourself without asking for my opinions!_:

:_All I ask from you is your military cooperation, Starscream, not your opinions._: He responded as though he was stating the obvious. :_I will give you instructions once you arrive. Follow my orders, and we will succeed._:

:_You're treating me like a subordinate again!_: I shrieked into our comm.-line, frustration flaring in my agitated spark.

There was a slight pause before Megatron answered, and I briefly wondered if he was wincing from the high-pitched screech I just made.

:_You do not initiate contact. You have never showed any particular interest in working alongside the Decepticon cause. You do not make any notable contributions to our alliance, and yet, when _I_ do, you complain?_: He bit out, voice gruff and hard, and his whole demeanor gained an offensive air. :_I've waited with more patience than you deserve for you to take initiative, Starscream, but you continue to cower behind your city's walls._:

:_I'm not cowering!_: I protested, indignation making my wings jerk up high on my back. :_I'm waiting for the right moment!_:

:_The right moment is not waited on. It is made._: His tone held a note of finality, concluding the topic before I was willing to let it go. :_I expect your arrival in no more than half a joor._:

I was speechless again, jaw hinges loose as my mouth remained in an open position. Not that my lack of a reply made any difference – Megatron continued on without waiting for my response.

:_Do you have an internal weapons-integration system?_:

:_Yes, but—_:

:_Employ necessary attachments. I need you to have concealed weaponry that no ground pounder can find on your frame._:

That could be easily accomplished, but what did Megatron—

:_You have a role to fulfill on this night cycle, Starscream, but you are hardly vital for my plan to succeed. War _will_ begin with or without your participation._: He spoke with complete seriousness, and it was that seriousness that made my spark quiver nervously inside my spark chamber. :_Remember what I told you before: I do not tolerate weakness. Those who only know to hide do not have the right to live. Do not disappoint me. I will see you shortly on my command deck._:

I was not weak. I did not want to hide. I did not want to disappoint him, but everything was happening too quickly. I felt trapped. I had lost control of the situation. I felt like I was freefalling without my thrusters, spiraling downward, confused and disoriented.

:_…I…will be there._: I answered in a whisper, and our conversation abruptly ended. I sat on my berth, and stared at the opposite wall.

…What the slag just happened…?

Despite the disbelief and shock still clouding my processors with a haze of confusion, I accessed the Fighter Jet comm.-line, and sent out a ping.

:_Starscream to all Fighter Jet search team leaders – report status._: My voice held authority, but I was hardly paying much attention as the team leaders started to report in.

:_Abort current mission objective and return to Vos at once._: I ordered after all team leaders were accounted for. :_Upon entry, speak to no one, remain in debrief chambers, and wait for further instruction._:

:_Affirmative, your Highness._: They replied.

:_Good._: I sighed through my vents. :_Starscream, out._:

Walking to the far wall that hid my personal laboratory from view, I activated its opening sequence, and sent my trine mates a comm. through our trine link.

:_Star?_: Thundercracker was the first to respond, followed by a groggy complaint from Skywarp.

:_What now, Screamer? I'm recharging…_:

:_Something came up. We are going to Kaon._: I made my way into my lab as I spoke, and walked toward two small laser cannons propped up on the wall.

:_Kaon? Now?_: Thundercracker asked, surprise lacing his voice. However, before I could answer, Skywarp cut in.

:_Uhh, I'd love to join you, but I'm kinda stuck in confinement with my coordinate system turned off._:

"Primus-damnit!" I almost slapped myself. How could I have forgotten? I sent Skywarp to confinement myself!

:_Thundercracker will give you clearance._: I sent my blue trine mate a data-burst of a clearance notice, giving him permission to bail Skywarp out of his punishment early. :_Afterwards, you will return to our trine quarters as to not rouse suspicion, and teleport to the armory to retrieve our null rays._:

:_Null rays?_: Thundercracker was starting to sound a little alarmed.

:_I'll explain later._: I snapped tersely, and opened the hidden compartments on my shoulders to attach the laser cannons to my internal weapon system. :_Report to my quarters once you are done._:

:_Affirmative. I'm on my way._: Thundercracker sounded anxious and terribly worried, but he did as he was told. There was an almost inaudible click as my blue trine mate turned off his comm., but Skywarp lingered in the trine link, undoubtedly curious.

:_What's happening? Are we gonna get to slag someone later?_: He sounded awfully excited, and I felt a wave of irritation flood my spark.

:_I _said_ I will explain later!_: I scowled, and abruptly terminated our comm. contact. Cursing Megatron silently, I connected the laser cannons. They made a soft whirr as they integrated into my system, and I set them on standby, closing the compartment panels. They hid seamlessly, and I was certain that no ground pounder would notice their existence.

Walking out of my personal lab, I initiated the closing sequence. As the door slowly slid shut, I turned around for one last glance at all the weapons that lay hidden in my recharge chambers. There it was, the fusion cannon, sitting exactly as how I had left it the last time I polished it. It glinted under the light, and I felt a tinge of remorse that it could not be used.

What a shame. After all, what better way to start off a war than a big bang from one of the deadliest cannons on Cybertron, one that I made myself?

I shook my helm. There was no time for such sentiments. My data-pad shelf slid into place, looking as though it had never moved, just as puff of purple smoke popped into existence right next to my berth. My trine mates came into view, both sporting null rays. Skywarp wore a large, expectant grin on his faceplate, and held my null rays in his arms, while Thundercracker sported a frown, worry casting his features in shadow.

"So, what's happening?" Skywarp asked, optics glittering, as he handed me my null rays.

"In short, Megatron is being an inconsiderate fragger," I felt my faceplate settle into a familiar sneer, and started to attach my null rays.

Skywarp shared a confused glance with Thundercracker.

"In a more thorough version, the aforementioned inconsiderate fragger had promptly decided for both his messy group of delinquents _and_ our glorious city that this is the night cycle to plunge Cybertron into a planetary civil war while completely disregarding what I personally think, despite the fact that I am his ally." Clicking my null rays into place, I made a short, rude huff with my vents, and looked at my trine mates with my hands on my hips. "Any questions?"

If possible, Skywarp's grin grew even bigger.

"Slag yeah! About time!" He cheered, and swung a fist in the air. My sneer grew more pronounced, and I fought the urge to smack him on the helm.

Thundercracker, on the hand, had a much more satisfying reaction.

"_What?_" He cried out, optics widened into circles.

"My thought exactly," I grumbled.

"And-And you're—…you're going along with it?" My blue trine mate spluttered, shaking his helm in disbelief.

"He didn't give me a choice!" I crossed my arms over my chassis defensively, "He seems to have some sort of a plan that requires our participation." In truth, Megatron had not asked for Skywarp and Thundercracker to come, but I was not about to enter any combat without my trine mates with me.

"I…" Thundercracker looked down, still shaking his helm, "I don't know if I can do this. Everything is so sudden…!"

"Oh c'm_on_, TC, this is our time to show the Autobots what we've got!" Skywarp gave Thundercracker a playful punch on the arm. "Don't tell me you're _scared_." He snickered, voice teasing, and Thundercracker shot him a shocked look of incredulity.

"And you're not?" Thundercracker's usually low voice rose in pitch as his optics flashed, "You _should_ be! For Primus's sakes, 'Warp, do you have any idea what's going to happen once a war starts!"

"Uhhh…we get to slag Autobots?" Skywarp gave a careless shrug.

"Skywarp!" Thundercracker shouted out, determined to make our purple trine mate see his point. "Mechs are going to _die_!" He added, brow-ridges furrowed deeply in desperate concern.

"Uhhh, _yeah_, Autobots." Skywarp lifted up a brow-ridge, and stated flatly.

"Skywarp—…!" Thundercracker winced in frustration and turned around, hands shooting up to cradle his helm. "Oh for Primus's sakes!"

"Shut up, both of you," I hissed, cutting in before Skywarp's stupidity could do more harm to Thundercracker's undoubtedly aching processors. There were more pressing matters to address, and I would hate to be late when Megatron had been so insistent on punctuality. "There's no time for this. Skywarp, teleport us to the Decepticon command deck at once."

Nodding, Skywarp eagerly tugged both Thundercracker and I snuggly against him, and activated his warping sequence. Thundercracker continued to shake his helm, optics staring blankly in dismay, and he did not stop even as we teleported. Within a klik, we left Vos, and felt the rough texture of Kaon architecture under our peds.

"Starscream." I heard Megatron's voice, and turned toward the direction it came from. He was sitting on a large chair in the middle of the room, imposing and shrouded in shadow. His optics looked exceptionally bright, flaming orbs hovering in the dark and illuminating his sharp, hard features. I was instantly reminded of how dark Kaon could get during the night cycle, as it lacked proper lighting systems. The numerous, big screens on surrounding walls were what brightened the room the most, and Soundwave sat in front of one of them, typing silently. There were a few other mechs around, and some of them glanced at my trine mates and I, but none of them made any sound or acknowledgment.

"Megatron." I crossed my arms, and shifted on my thrusters. Everything about the room made me uneasy. My wings felt stiff on my back. My spark quivered involuntarily. I was so anxious that I actually startled when Megatron made a sudden movement. I thought he was going to get up from his chair, but he only beckoned me to come closer.

"You are right on time," He stated as I walked forward to stand right in front of him.

"Of course," I stared back, biting down my jaw joints. "Some of us actually have common courtesy." I spoke pointedly, and pinned him with an annoyed look.

He made a hum, and seemed to dismiss my rather obvious stab at his rudeness. I felt my optics narrow, but my displeasure at being brushed off was momentarily forgotten as he started to explain why he wanted me here in his base.

"On this night, all of Kaon gathers at my call," He barely spoke above the necessary volume for his voice to carry, yet it captured my attention effortlessly. "The most vicious of mechs from the deepest pits of this city are arriving as we speak. They will gather under my command, and pledge their sparks to my cause."

"That's hardly discreet, Megatron." I scoffed, tone flat and unimpressed.

"I am not trying to be." He answered evenly, unaffected by my input. "Prime has already taken the bait. His mechs are already entering the compounds. They plan to take every single one of us tonight, to gouge the problem straight from its root."

"What does that have anything to do with me?" I frowned, lips curling downward in distaste, "I'm not letting any disgusting Autobot lay his greasy hands on me."

Upon my retort, he only chuckled softly. "That is precisely what you are going to do, Starscream," A nasty smirk appeared on his faceplate as he spoke, "You are going to allow them to capture you, and confine you, with the rest of us, into their prison."

My optics narrowed to slits as I scrunched my nose-bridge in distain.

"Have you lost your circuits?" I hissed out, dentae gritting tightly together. "What nonsense are you spewing out now?"

Megatron did not answer my questions directly. He went on to explain his plan, and I cycled air through my intakes system, fighting to stay patient.

"Unlike the rest of us, the Senates will order _your_ release." He regarded me with keen, sharp optics. "Your position is different, Starscream. The Senates will not wait to seize this opportunity to condemn you. They will come, and they will bring you before them to pressure you into relinquishing your rule over Vos."

"I will do no such thing!" Where was this idiot of a rust bucket going with his stupid plan?

"You will not." He simply answered, "You will deactivate them."

For a moment, I thought I had heard wrong. When it became clear that he was being completely serious, my wings twitched, and my optics widened.

I was, for the umpteenth time this night cycle, rendered speechless by this ground pounder.

"…What is it, Starscream?" His voice was low, and smooth. "Don't tell me you hold reservation toward those senile degenerates."

"Of course not!" I shook myself out of my surprised daze, and spat out, disgusted with the notion. However, I would be lying horrible if I were to say that the thought of murdering the old fools did not make me nervous in the slightest. Despite being overall repulsive, the Senates were still the ruling party of Cybertron, and Megatron wanted me to kill them in one sweep? Was it really going to be this easy? We were trying to take down an entire government system. It could not possibly be this simple.

"Then you will not have trouble following my instructions." Megatron went on to say, optics watching my faceplate, glowing like simmering smelting pools. I shivered, wings jerking on my back, and fought to keep the rest of my limbs still, hands clenching into fists.

"I won't." I bit out, forcing my gaze to remain connected to his.

"Good," Megatron spoke slowly, and the word lingered in the air as he keenly studied my faceplate. I summoned as much self-control as I could, keeping myself from averting my optics or shifting on my peds. I felt as though he could see through me, as though my very spark lay naked to his sight. I was unnerved, and incredibly anxious, but also very, undeniably charged by a sick thrill. My weapon system warmed, and I itched to kill. The thought of seeing the Senates' optics darken with deactivation made the energon in my fuel lines boil. My cooling fans clicked on, and I felt a smirk stretch across my features.

"After deactivating the Senates, you will free everyone in Kaon prison, even those who did not come in with us." Megatron continued to instruct, the fierce shine in his optics flaring wildly. "You will free them, and they will swear their allegiance to my cause."

"And what then, Megatron?" I leaned forward slightly, prompting him on.

"Then, we will have our war." His lips parted into a wide, scowling grin, dentae gritted and bared. His optics narrowed, and light burst out from them like combusting flames. They sketched deep, sharp shadows into his faceplate, and their brightened hue bled down into the streaks of peeling red paint on his cheeks.

"And Kaon will burn." His deep, growling voice seeped into my audials, and I shook, wings shivering most prominently. I felt light on my peds, and released a shuddering blast of air from my vents that I had not noticed I was holding. My spark swelled in my spark chamber, and heat spread through my frame like liquid fire.

"Is this plan to your liking, Starscream?" He seemingly asked, but I knew he was only daring me to say otherwise.

"It is coarse, blunt, and unrefined, much like you, Megatron," I tilted my chin up haughtily, once again crossing my arms, "…but yes," I conceded only a little begrudgingly. "Yes, I like it."

We continued to watch each other, neither of us backing down to break our optic contact. The very air between us began to heat, and the currents his cooling fans sent out made my flight sensors tingle. My surroundings eventually faded from my notice as my entire being became captivated by him, my awareness pertaining to only his overpowering presence. A tickling prickle floated over my plating like phantom caresses by rough fingers, and my wing tips possibly ached, wanting to be pinched and mercilessly handled.

My desire for him was heightened by the impending night of violence and death. Mechs would fall as I gun them down from above. Optics would flicker to darkness. Faceplates would become frozen in expressions of panic and horror, and sparks would extinguished by my hands. Energon freshly spilt from fuel lines would form rivers in Kaon. Its stench would overwhelm all other foul putrescence this smelting pit of a city carried in its overflowing sewers. The fuel of life would then rise to the sky in glowing steam, evaporating from the flames burning the city to ashes…and I would bask in its essence, dancing in the air in a way that only a Seeker of my caliber could ever hope to accomplish.

Megatron would watch such a grotesque display, and he would _desire_ me.

A loud, screeching creak abruptly severed the tension building between Megatron and I. Startled, I jumped, and hissed out a curse. Megatron barely moved, but his flashing optics told me he was equally surprised by the sound. Snapping my helm to the side in annoyance, I snarled at the mech that dared to intrude between us.

Soundwave stood beside his chair, which undoubtedly made that horrid sound. I narrowed my optics at him, and glared vehemently, but he remained still, completely without reaction.

"Arrival into main arena: ninety-five-point-two-six percent completion." The blue ground pounder intoned, visor in a dim glow.

"Good," Megatron replied, and stood up from his seat. I hastily backed away a few steps just to avoid being touched by his frame as he got up. We were close enough for that to happen, and I did not want him to feel just how heated my plating had become. "We will make our way to the main arena as well." He announced, and led the way.

Soundwave bowed as Megatron and I walked past him. I shot him another glare, but could not tell if he was even paying attention. Disgruntled, I huffed, and motioned at my trine mates to follow after us. However, Megatron had other ideas.

"I have another mission for Skywarp and Thundercracker." He paused in his steps to say, and my trine mates looked to me for direction, to which I gave a small nod.

"They will follow Blitzwing to the brig and bring our prisoner to the main arena upon instruction." Megatron glanced at the side, and it was then that I noticed one of the ground pounders sitting at the consoles was Blitzwing the triple-changer. Blitzwing quickly got up, bowed, and made his way toward my trine mates. Thundercracker wore an expression of confusion, and he gave Blitzwing a one-over, probably trying to determine why a ground pounder had "wing" in his designation. Blitzwing only shifted uncomfortably on his peds, and motioned at the side door, grumbling a request for them to follow him.

"Prisoner?" I asked Megatron, tilting my helm up to catch him in the optics with a wondering look.

"A trivial part of the operation that you needn't worry about," He answered, and did not look like he cared enough to explain further. I lifted a brow-ridge, but decided to not comment, making a small huff with my vents.

:_Star?_: Thundercracker sent me a ping through our trine link, giving me another look of inquiry. He watched me worriedly as Megatron began to walk toward the main door of the command deck with me following after him.

:_I'll be fine. Go with Blitzwing, and I will see you soon in the main arena._: I answered, urging my trine mates with a small jerk of my chin. Thundercracker nodded, and did as I instructed despite his lingering expression of concern. Skywarp flashed me a mischievous grin as he glanced suggestively between Megatron and I, but he turned around too quickly to see the glare I sent his way for his stupid behaviour.

I left the command deck with Megatron and Soundwave, systems slowly calming from their previous heated state. Megatron led us around a few corners, and eventually took us down a large, long hall. The hall had an extraordinarily high ceiling, one that almost reached the same height as my Grand Hall back in Vos. Somewhat amazed, I turned my helm upward and looked around. I was absentmindedly wondering why ground pounders needed such high ceilings when I suddenly bumped into something short and blunt. I cried out in alarm, and almost tripped over, barely catching myself. To my further surprise, the something short and blunt actually yelped in response.

Abruptly looking down, I spotted two small ground pounders, one blue and one red. The blue one was on the floor, rubbing the side of his helm, while the red one was trying to help him up. They looked nearly identical aside from their paintjobs, and I reasoned that they must be sibling units, if not twins.

"Hey, watch where you're goin', will ya?" The blue one shouted up at me, swinging one of his fists as he stood up with the help of his twin.

"Yeah!" The red one added: "Just 'cause we're small doesn't mean we're easy ta pick on!"

I stared at the two little ones from one to the other, and gave Megatron, who had stopped walking and turned around by then, an unimpressed look.

"You employed _younglings_ into your army?" I curled my lips, and asked in a flat voice.

"Hey! Who ya callin' younglings!" The blue one piped up, "We're mini-bots!"

"Mini-bots?" I made a face, annoyed that there was something I did not previously know about. "What in the pits are mini-bots?"

"Don't talk t' us like we're _things_, y' slagger!" The red one spoke this time, pointing up at me rudely. "We can scrap ya even though we're small!"

I scowled, patience instantly gone as my curiosity toward these so-called "mini-bots" changed to irritation. My null rays gave a warning hum as they powered on, and the two small grounders startled a little, glancing at my cannons dartingly.

"What, ya think we're gonna back down just 'cause y' got yer pretty lil guns?" The blue one snarled, and clenched his fists tighter. "We ain't scared o' no whorebot!"

_Whorebot?_ Anger shot through me so quickly that my null rays activated to full charge in less than a klik. My optics narrowed to slits as I bit my dentae. How _dare_ these little slag-balls—

"That's enough." A loud growl of a command from Megatron instantly made the two little slag-balls flinch and shut up. Their defiance was gone in a klik, replaced by apprehension as they shriveled under their commander's glare, clutching each other's arms.

"…S-Sorry, boss, I didn't mean nothin' by what I said," The blue one laughed nervously, "Ya know me, always blurtin' things out before I run 'em by my processors…"

"Yeah, boss," The red one immediately nodded in agreement. "We didn't mean t' offend ya." He gave me a small glance before turning back to Megatron, "By the way, yer whorebot's a real looker!"

Anger quickly rose to sheer rage. I downright trembled, hands in tight fists and wings completely upright on my back. My cooling fans worked at top capacity as my internal temperature increased, and I almost shot the two little slag-balls right in their ugly little faceplates.

"I'm not a whorebot, you little glitch-afts!" I screamed down at them, "I'm Crown Prince Starscream from the flier city of Vos!"

The two made a face as they simultaneously shielded their audials, wincing in pain at the pitch I had shrieked at. Their discomfort placated my fury to an extent, though slagging the two little slag-balls was still very likely on my processors.

"No wonder!" The blue one dared to laugh, gesturing at my frame, "I thought you were too pretty t'be a whorebot." He gave me a once-over, and added on with a leering grin: "Now that ya mention it, you're _really_ too pretty t'be a whorebot." I did not know whether to feel revolted or amazed at his sheer level of insolence.

Before I could decide, Megatron spoke up, voice radiating displeasure: "What do the two of you want?" His optics were dimmed, his faceplate blank but tense. "Make it quick. I have important matters to tend to."

"We just wanted ta talk t'ya about the whole cassette thing, boss," The blue one turned away from me, and I was suddenly hit with the urge to shoot him in the back.

"Yeah," The red one agreed, continuing for his twin, "We kinda like bein' just us, ya know? Not that big blue ain't nice or anythin'," He turned and gave Soundwave a small, wary glance, "It's just that it's always been just the two o' us, and we're used to it."

Megatron's expression as he turned around and resumed walking down the hall told me that this was not the first time the twins brought up this subject. "The answer to your request is still no." His voice held a note of finality, and any mech would have simply shut up, but, to my surprise, the two little glitches actually continued to pester their commander.

"But, boss—" The blue one ran in front of Megatron, and whined.

"I have decided." Megatron did not slow down, leading us down the hall in large, firm strides, "There will be no debate. You've both been modified for a reason."

"But—" The red one tried to cut in, but his protest was immediately cut off. Megatron suddenly swung out a fist, and smashed it into the wall. The resulting sound was so loud that even I jumped on my beds, wings making an uneven flick. The red one let out a small cry, and darted backward while his brother froze in fright. I watched with no small amount of fascination as Megatron slowly pulled his fist out of the large, cracked dent he made in the wall, and loomed over the blue and red twins.

The two little slag-balls wore identical expressions of fear. They scooted closer to each other, and cowered together. For several kliks, they were rendered speechless, looking up at Megatron with bright visors. Slowly, they backed away, and looked to the side.

"So…" The blue one tried to shrug it off, forcing a shaky grin onto his faceplate as he peeked around Megatron's form, "Soundwave it is!"

The red one immediately affirmed his twin's statement, and nodded quickly, ending the one-sided discussion once and for all.

Megatron lingered for a klik longer, simply glaring down at the two, before continuing on his way down the hall. I followed after him, passing by the two little glitches and flashing them an arrogant smirk, using my height to full advantage. I was surprised that there were ground pounders smaller than Seekers, and I was quite curious about what "mini-bots" exactly were. However, I filed such wonder to the back of my processors. There was plenty of time to delve into the subject after the night's events.

The hall eventually led to a door. As we got closer, I began to hear muffled sounds of a large crowd. Megatron paused to enter the pass-code, and the door slid open soundlessly. The silence in the hallway was immediately interrupted by an eruption of noise, comprised of mostly loud voices. Passing through the entrance, I took a full sweep of our surroundings, and immediately felt my optics widen.

I had expected to enter an arena, but not one of this size. It was massive, spanning wide in a circular fashion around the platform Megatron had led us onto. Several big balconies were stacked up on top of one another, each completely filled with rolls and rolls of burly, bulky ground pounders. It was as though, upon receiving Megatron's call, every inhabitant of Kaon had gathered here, all looking forward to what the gladiator had to say. The noise burst into a full roar as soon as we came into view, standing on the loft we entered. Fists were raised in the air. Vocalizers strained to be heard. The heat from eager sparks filled the enormous space, making the air hot and stuffy. I felt my lips fall apart as I took in the sight, shocked by how many mechs had come just because Megatron told them to.

When had Megatron gained such command over so many grounders? I felt my optics reboot as though they could not believe the sight. The sheer scale of everything was overwhelming. The atmosphere held such a strong simmer of pent-up anger and bloodlust that I felt my wings tremble, spark shivering in thrilling excitement and fearful nervousness. However, despite my contradictory emotions, I felt my back straighten and my wings fan out wider around my frame. Many pairs of optics were on me as much as Megatron. Mechs probably wondered just who I was, attracted to me by my beautiful form. My Seeker pride soared, and an extremely pleased grin appeared on my faceplate.

I could get used to this.

Several cameras hovered around us in all angles, lens pointed at Megatron. With a few taps on a console from Soundwave, they were activated, red lights blinking on. The crowd grew significantly quieter when large screens around the arena flickered, and they became completely silent as Megatron's faceplate appeared, scarred and focused. Anticipation was thick in the air. I could almost taste it on my glossa. My hands curled into fists, and I stared at Megatron as intently as all other pairs of optics in the crowd, waiting for him to speak.

His stance was strong, his shoulders straight. His features betrayed no emotion aside from solid determination, and his optics were bright. His chin was tilted slightly upward in confidence, and his lips were pressed firmly together. He was completely certain of himself and his cause. His entire demeanor exuded command and charisma, captivating every spark in the arena.

"All of you have gathered here on this night cycle for the answer to one question that I had once asked myself," His gruff, deep voice travelled easily in the large chamber, reaching every eager audial. "What is it that makes a mech strong?" His optics swept across the arena, staring intently at his audience.

"Is it wealth? Influence? Is it ambition? Or perhaps advanced weaponry." He paused, allowing the question to linger in the air. "If any of the above is what you consider to be strength, then you do not belong in this arena." My wings quivered, and I bit my lips, forcing my expressive appendages to stay still.

"Deep in the mines, no mech has the luxury of such frivolous things." Megatron continued to speak, lips curling and gaze steeled. "Cycle after cycle of plowing through solid rock…buried in darkness, driven to dig, to penetrate, to tear, to suffer," His optics narrowed as they gave a sparking flash, "To _survive_ just so a selected few can sit on their thrones and bask in decadence."

The arena was deathly silent now, every mech greedily grasping onto his every word.

"I had thought that _that_ was what it meant to be strong: to survive in the deepest, darkest smelting pits of Cybertron on nothing but scraps – to force tired limbs to work with only hunger and pain as motivation to harvest the fuel that allows us to live. All of you," He snarled, "are alive because of me and mine," His gaze grew pointed and piercing, slits of fiery viciousness scrutinizing every mech in the crowd.

"I thought I was strong, because lives of millions depended on my hands and my pickaxe." His fists clenched further, joints tightened to their extreme.

"…But I was wrong." He bit out, dentae gritted.

"Credits can be stolen. Influence can be bribed. Ambition can be crushed. And weaponry can be taken, stripped from deactivated bodies." His voice lowered to a dark growl:

"Even my pickaxe can be ripped from my hands…"

The silence grew heavy. My lowered my gaze, and my spark shivered.

Megatron waited for the tension to mount, for mechs to ache from the need to know the answer only he could offer.

What made a mech strong?

"There is only one thing that cannot be taken away," Megatron's lips stretched into a feral smirk, made grotesque by the shadows darkening the edges of his faceplate. "An idea, a goal, a _cause_, that is shared by many, and the belief that it _will_ be carried through to the end."

Some mechs became confused, shifting on their peds and looking restless, but Megatron continued on in the murmur of noise:

"In the mines, we did not know that destiny must be harnessed, kicked, and ridden until it takes you in the right direction." He lifted his hands, palms up and fingers spread, and, slowly, deliberately, began to form hard fists. "To make destiny take you, not to where you want to go, but where you force it: _that_, is what makes a mech strong."

He paused, and his lips formed a deep, intimidating scowl.

"Everything you possess, all the skills you own, they mean nothing unless you clutch destiny by the spark and _take command_." His optics were almost blinding in their intensity, shinning like exploding suns.

"You force destiny to look in the way you will go, and you_ will be strong_."

I was shaking.

I could not move, rooted to my spot, spark afraid to even tremble in fear that I would miss one nuance of his speech. There was a potent heat in my core, spreading through my frame. It bled into my fuel lines. It seeped into my neural system. My processors could not think, gripping onto every single syllable of Megatron's words and refusing to let go.

He had completely captivated my being.

I was his.

"…We are sending a message," He spoke on when his previous words finally sank into every processor in his audience, "A message that will clearly state our position, _our word_, on this decaying society:

"We are the ones who will take the reigns, and we will ride!"

Elevation and excitement began to bubble from the crowd. Mechs were starting to get restless, but this time from expectancy and desire to snatch back what was theirs and renew the world they lived in.

"I want to ask each of you a question," Megatron's optics watched all those in the crowd, "Why are you here?" His voice held a rough edge.

"…You come from Vos," He turned minutely toward me with a nod, and I nodded back, wings fanning out wider on my back in acknowledgement.

"You come from Tarn," He returned to address the ground pounders, "Altihex, Uraya, and Kalis.

"We gather in Kaon, and so we bring our misery together," His tone gained a hard, pressing edge, "_And we fight_!" He took a step forward, jaws clenched and stance firmly held with tension.

"_We_ are the forgotten, trying to forget. Forgotten, until you stand with a blade in one hand, and a throat in the other! Then you feel it," His fists tightened even further, and his optics flashed in a burst of light, "You are alive!

"We can wear badges, join teams, fight, and kill. Then the badge comes off, and you _crawl_ _home_." His lips pulled back into a scowl, "Assembled here, I see strength, power, the most dangerous Cybertronians alive!" With one clean move, he clutched the chain around his neck, and swung it off. The purple emblem dangling from the chain glinted under the light, and he thrust it forward into plain sight for all to see.

"So…What if the badge _never came off_?"

All optics were glued to the purple insignia representing all the rage, sufferance, and pain every single mech in the arena had trudged through in their vorns of existence.

"What if our new arena was the entire face of the planet?" Megatron swung the pendant in a wide sweep, "What if there was _one badge_ for all of us? And instead of fighting each other, we attack those that put us here, and we _take _what is_ ours_!"

The crowd instantly roared in response. Mechs swung their fists, mouths wide open as they screamed their fury and revenge. The heat in the arena immediately rose. The air grew stifling. The sheer release of oppressed energy combusted into an explosion of wrath, and, in every optic, I could see the lust to kill.

Megatron replaced the chain around his neck, and the purple badge shined.

"Would _you_ have the bearings for that?" He challenged the crowd further, "Would they?" He gestured to the side with an arm, and a door on the side of the arena suddenly slid open. To my surprise, it was Skywarp and Thundercracker, holding a mech with a disturbingly large amount of gold paint on his frame.

I realized with a startle that the gold mech was an Autobot Senate. I could not recall his designation, but the familiarity of his form and paintjob told me right away that this was a Senator I had several encounters with.

My trine mates dragged the gold mech into the crowd. I could tell Skywarp was enjoying himself. Thundercracker, on the other hand, was so anxious and agitated that his wings were visibly quavering even from my distance. I watched them as they pulled the Senate into the middle of the arena, and threw him down to the ground. I watched them carefully, because if one ground pounder dared to cause them any trouble, I would not hesitate to shoot.

"Look at the _fear_, the self-interest," Megatron snarled in disgust, and he turned, making his way to the arena floor. He walked down the stairs at a steady pace, and the hovering cameras followed. I briefly paused to wonder if I wanted to go to the lower level where so many ground pounders were. However, I quickly pushed the hesitation away, and went after Megatron.

If my trine mates could stand in the middle of so many violent grounders, so could I.

Megatron continued to speak as he descended the flight of stairs, glaring at the kneeling and shivering Senator. "The loathing for us…loathing for what _they_ have created, fear for what will happen." He reached the bottom, and the crowd began to part a way for him to pass through toward the golden mech.

"_We_ are without fear. _We_ will make our mark upon this world." His voice rang in the arena, and every mech watched him with avid attention as he neared the Autobot, who was shaking, terrified on his hands and knees. Megatron stopped right behind the Senate, and abruptly grabbed the protrusion on top of the gold mech's helm. With a rough yank, he bent the Autobot backward, and exposed his delicate neck cables and chassis to the energon-thirsty grounders in the crowd.

"Why don't you all get started on making an impression?" Megatron commanded, and his mechs immediately answered, gathering around the Senate with menacing sneers and murder in their glowing optics.

"All teams," Megatron addressed, looking down at the all but sobbing Autobot with revulsion and hatred. "If they surrender," He spat out, "let them _give up_."

The grounders edged closer, wearing identical expressions of bloodlust as they cracked their knuckle joints and clenched their fists, dentae bared and gritted. The Senator began to shake even harder, optics widened to their limits as his lips quivered, blurting out hysterical pleas. His desperate gaze flicked around, frantically trying to find anyone sympathetic. He suddenly took notice of me, and, immediately frantic, began to stretch his fingers in my direction, calling out for help.

"P-Please, your Highness!" He begged, voice cracking under distress and terror, "I have always served you with the best of intentions! Vos's wellbeing has always been forefront in my processors! Please! Stop them! Please!"

Megatron tilted his helm, and looked at me closely, waiting for my response. All other grounders paused in their advancement as though by a silent command, glancing back and forth between Megatron and I.

"Help me, Prince Starscream, please!" The Senate continued to cry out, voice in a note of complete desperation. "_Please!_"

I smiled.

It was music to my audials.

"…I'm afraid it is with my sincerest apologies that I must decline your polite request, Senator." I purred, hips swaying to an exaggerated degree as I sauntered closer to him, thruster heels making small, crisp clicks against the arena floor. My smile grew into a smirk, and I reveled with gleeful giddiness as horror and realization dawned onto the Autobot's faceplate, stretching his visage into an ugly grimace.

"I am truly flattered that you care so deeply for my city, Autobot," Stopping a few steps away from the cowering, golden mech, I slowly lifted my arms, and pointed the barrels of my null rays straight at his optics. "What a pity _your_ wellbeing has never actually mattered to Vos." I cooed as though speaking to a frightened sparkling, and felt a grin stretch across my faceplate as my null rays activated, whirring in building charge.

However, before I could shoot, cries of alarm and dismay suddenly erupted from all corners of the arena. Looking up, I suddenly came faceplate to faceplate with thick, suffocating smoke. Deactivating my null rays in favour of getting away from the fume, I skidded back several steps, but the smoke was everywhere. It overwhelmed me completely before I could even figure out what was going on.

"Security! Get out of here!" A voice not far from where I was shouted out.

"Get out—Where?" I answered without meaning to, trying to peer through the smoke, "Can't see—"

I could not see at all, no matter how hard I tried to squint through the layers of tinted vapour. It choked my intakes, which spluttered, trying to get the smoke out of my system. I could hear voices crying out and bellowing, but everything was too loud for words to be distinguishable. I was disoriented and blinded, and even my audials could not be used to determine what was going on as deafening noise rose all around me.

Hard, massive frames crashed into me as grounders abruptly appeared out of the smoke and disappeared back into it, running away or chasing I did not know. I could not determine what was happening, confused and lost until a voice rang out louder than the rest.

"You're all under arrest!" The voice yelled, and a grounder was knocked down to the floor only a few steps away from me, struggling as another clamped restraining devices around his torso, effectively immobilizing him.

Sentinel Prime's mechs, I realized. They were here, and they were arresting us, just as Megatron had predicted.

The Autobot pushing the grounder faceplate down against the floor looked up, and he almost startled when he spotted me staring back at him with wide optics. "Flier!" He immediately shouted out, and pointed at me purposefully. I jolted a little, and could not figure out what he was trying to do. I was halfway into a perplexed frown when my flight sensors suddenly caught the incoming current of someone advancing toward me at great speed from behind.

Without another thought, I boosted my thrusters, and shot up, slipping from capture by a mere klik. The Autobot that tried to grab me swore when he failed, and he quickly disappeared behind the smoke as I flew away. I had no idea where I was going, so my speed was slow. However, I quickly realized that my flight sensors were great for navigation, and relied completely on them to avoid collisions based on the shifting air currents. I was not entirely accurate, but it was enough for me to escape capture on numerous occasions. I knew I had to allow myself to be caught eventually, but I was not about to give up without a fight.

It quickly became apparent to me that the Autobots could see through the smoke, and that they were apprehending everyone in the arena at a swift pace that was really quite impressive. I heard Megatron's roar above the general havoc around me, and paused in the air, wondering what had happened to him.

"I'll gut every one of you!" He snarled furiously like a beast.

"Hold him down!"

"Pin him!"

Voices sprung out, sharp and high in pitch compared to the low tessitura of Megatron's voice.

"Inhibitor claw! Inhibitor claw!" Another voice cried out, and the sound of a heavy brawl reached my audials.

"I'll kill you!" Megatron bellowed, and there were more noises of hard impact against thick plating. I listened attentively for the fight, and relished in every pained yelp indicating that my gladiator might have succeeded in fulfilling his threat of gutting a mech or several.

"Get that thing on him!" A mech, undoubtedly an Autobot, shouted out in command over the booming noise. Faint indications of struggle continued, but they were not as loud as before, and they got quickly drowned out by the other sounds filling the arena.

I could only assume that Megatron had been brought down.

For a long moment, I did not know what to do, hovering in the air and staring into the blinding smoke. Ground pounder after ground pounder around me was forced down by the Autobots. The loud thuds their heavy frames made as they collided against the hard floor vibrated against my thin plating. Their screams of rage and fear-fueled retaliation were real, and they poisoned the air with panic. Despite knowing the plan was working perfectly, my spark was beginning to strum with anxiety, and the first inkling of fear started to crawl up my wings.

"…St—…crea-…Starscream!" I suddenly caught Thundercracker's voice, its unique timber making it easier to distinguish amongst the general chaos.

"TC?" I called back, looking around even though I could not see far. "TC!"

"Starscream!" Thundercracker seemed to have heard me as well.

"TC? Where are you?" I cried out, hovering and turning in circles. "TC? TC!" My voice gained an edge of unease, "Answer me!"

"—screa—Sta—Starscream! Where—Aaargh!" A piercing, pained cry from the familiar voice of my trine mate instantly made me tense, my intakes hitching to a stop. My wings began to quiver, and my spark started to shake in genuine alarm. My processors reeled, trying to pinpoint my trine mate's location in a large, impenetrable cloud of oppressive smoke. I called for him again, but he did not answer.

What in the pits was going on? Why did he stop responding to me?

"…Get off—Get—…-off me, you brute!" As though in answer to my anxious worry, I suddenly heard Thundercracker again. My spark lurched, and I perked up, the fact that I could still hear him bringing me temporary relief. I tried to follow his voice, slowly venturing forward. However, his next words, rasped and sharp with alarm, rooted me to my hover spot:

"Starscream!" He shouted, "Fly away!"

"Fly away!" He shouted again, and I was shaken to the core, hearing his usually calm voice scream in such a manner. Before I could decide on what to do, a blunt, heavy thud, followed by an especially pained cry, came from his direction. The noise froze me, and I gaped forward, not knowing what that sound could mean.

"…Th-Thundercracker…?" My optics were wide, but I still could not see anything around me. My flight sensors suddenly caught a whiff of a current, and I turned, abruptly aware of a dark, ominous shadow coming my way. It was approaching me, growing bigger and bigger by the klik. "…Thundercracker…?" I called out, but audial-splitting noise was my only reply.

The shape began to solidify out of the smoke, hulking and thick. A bright visor came into view, and it hovered, watching me with unnerving scrutiny as large hands reached to grab me out of the air.

Without a second thought, I instantly swirled around, and took off in the opposite direction.

I flew until I was certain I could no longer see that nightmarish form. Only then did I stop and turn in all direction, trying to peer through the thick fume. However, the first thing I noticed was how trapped I had become, sight and auditory reception rendered useless. The smoke suddenly seemed to take on a solid form. They surrounded me from all sides like walls, pressing against my flight sensors and constricting me.

The walls were coming closer and closer. My optics darted hastily, trying to find an escape route, but all I could see was smoke. I began to feel increasing pressure against my sensors, and my spark clenched in terror. My intakes quickened. My thoughts grew fragmented. The space around me began to shrink, and, suddenly hit with the full force of Seeker claustrophobia, I panicked.

"Thundercracker!" I shrieked, wings shaking so violently that I could no longer figure out which way was up and which way was down. My sensitive flight sensors became overwhelmed by the amount of stimuli they received, and my frame convulsed in spasms. "Thundercracker!" I continued to scream, the designation meaningless to me as I simply needed something to shout.

I began to frantically dart around in the air, flying in a spastic, messy pattern with sudden bursts of speed. My optics were wide, catching shadows of ground pounders only to see them vanish in the smoke. I hugged myself with my arms, and tried to access my trine link. To my horror, both Thundercracker and Skywarp were silent and unresponsive. What happened to them? Why was the bond so empty and quiet?

My spark began to chill as cold tendrils of fear grasped and tightened around it, caging it in a dark, heavy haze of distress. Everything was going according to plan, but that tiny amount of comfort was not enough. My failing logic circuits attempted to reason with me. Nothing was amiss, I told myself. My trine mates were supposed to be caught, just like Megatron and his ground pounders.

…But why were they silent and completely unresponsive…!

With a sharp hiss of a gasp from my intakes, I suddenly realized just how quiet it had abruptly become. There were voices still, and I could hear a bellow every once in a while, but the noise level had died down significantly.

What was happening?

I swirled around, dread choking my vocalizer, as I remained stuck in smoke.

What was happening?

I could hear murmurs. I should have been able to make out what they said, but my processors were overwhelmed by the amount of information my flight sensors continued feed them at a dizzying speed.

What was happening!

"…M-Megatron?" I lifted my hands, trying to feel my way out of my smoky prison, and slowly floated forward, calling out the first designation that popped into my panic-stricken processors. "Megatron?" My voice rose in volume, and I dashed forward in the air. "Megatron!" I called out, spark churning and twisting in irrational fear.

A large shadow moved from the corner of my vision, and I immediately swerved around, intakes hitching to a stop. It was big, and it had broad shoulders. It seemed to be coming straight for me.

"…Megatron…?" I called out once more, slowly floating toward it. Its frame carried approximately the same bulk as Megatron's, and it was at about the same height. Relief had just begun to relax the knots of terror in my spark when I remembered something very important.

Megatron had already been brought down by the Autobots.

With a choked back yelp of instantly spiking fear, I tried to fly out of the way, but it was too late.

Sentinel Prime's red faceplate emerged out of the smoke. One of his large hands grabbed my right wing in a relentless grip, almost crumbling the thin metal, and pulled me down.

Agony pierced through my fear, and I screamed as I was plucked straight from the air by my wing. Sentinel threw me down mercilessly, and I crashed to the ground, back hitting the floor with loud, hard impact.

I was allowed no time for even a brief reprieve. He descended upon me, and his hands once again reached for my wings.

"N-No! Stop!" I cried out, but he did not heed my protests. His fingers clenched into the plating of my wings, maliciously denting the edges, and I screamed, seeing dark spots as pain shot through my neural network.

Sentinel pulled me up by my thin appendages alone, my wing joints straining under the pressure of holding my entire weight. He flipped me over, and slammed me down on my faceplate. My helm hit the floor, and my processors rattled. My tank churned as nausea hit me at full force, and I could only gasp through my intakes, frame in shivers.

I vaguely felt my arms being pulled back and restrained. The only protest I gave was a sharp, pained whine when the movements jolted my wings, which were still suffering after their maltreatment. Sentinel was personally administering my arrest, and I almost felt disgusted, but I was too disoriented and hurt to muster much will to fight back.

The Prime hauled me up onto my peds by my restraints, and I stumbled, almost tripping over my thruster heels. The smoke was dissipating, its walls of vapour receding around me. My processors eventually began to clear, and I took a slow sweep of my surroundings, wondering what was going on.

I was exiting the arena. The night air felt slightly cooler outside, and I was momentarily distracted as it minutely soothed my aching wings. Mechs were being lined up and put into hovercrafts, one of which Megatron was currently being forced into. The Autobot security force was having a hard time keeping him there, however, the gladiator struggling with all his might and cursing in that deep, rough voice of his. It took no less than seven Autobots to finally tie him down, and they quickly exited the hovercraft, slamming its thick, iron doors closed.

I quickly began to look for my trine mates, and spotted both of them a little ways off. They were being placed into another hovercraft, though they did not protest, having been knocked offline. This would explain their lack of response when I tried to reach them through our trine link.

Sentinel did not utter a word as he led me past the hovercrafts all other prisoners were being loaded into. I frowned, confused, peeking over my shoulder nervously. Was he not going to arrest me?

He must have caught my confusion, for he answered barely a klik later:

"You will not be riding with them, your Majesty." The cool, smooth tone of his voice chilled my flight sensors. "You are special, so you will ride with me." He did not exhibit any emotion in particular as he spoke, yet his words somehow carried a note of threat and a detached sense of cruelty. He truly did not give a slag about me at all, and I shivered, dread heavy in my spark.

The Prime tugged me toward the furthest hovercraft, parked away from the other prison ships. The idea of sitting in an inanimate flying machine made me extremely uneasy, being a flier myself. How could a ground pounder know how to fly anything at all? I bit my lips, and stared at the massive hovercraft with rising trepidation.

Sentinel Prime pulled me up the stairs leading to the control pit, and I finally remembered to struggle, bucking and kicking while scowling at him and spitting out curses. However, he did not acknowledge me in the slightest, and simply slid open the door leading to the compartments behind the piloting deck.

A small, dark hole met my optics, and I immediately stilled.

He…could not be serious…! This hole of a sitting space could not possibly accommodate my wing span!

"…Wh-What are you doing…?" I whispered, heels immediately digging into the stairs as he tried to push me into the tiny hole. "…What are you doing!" My voice instantly reached a high pitch, and I cried out, staring at the compartment, terrified.

"We can't have a mech of your caliber riding with common criminals, your Highness." I felt the Prime press close against my back, growling darkly into my audials, "_This_ is your special treatment." Upon his words, I began to tremble in earnest, and my spark froze in terror. My optics zeroed in on the small space about to swallow me in darkness, and panic finally began to set in.

"S-Stop…" My vocalizer barely made a sound. I was too stunned by fear that I could only utter a weak protest, watching in growing horror as I was forcefully pushed closer toward the hole.

"…St-Stop…!" My voice rose slightly, and my peds strained to halt my advance into the tiny compartment.

"…Stop…!"

The hole was coming closer and closer.

"…Stop it…!"

I began to shake my helm, coolant gathering under my widened optics, voice gaining a hysterical edge.

"Stop it…!"

It was going to kill me.

"_Stop it!_"

I shrieked, and began to thrash. When Sentinel still gave no indication of stopping, I screamed even louder, pushing back against him and kicking my peds. I struggled wildly, wings jerking violently on my back regardless of the pain from their most recent injuries. All I knew was that I was being forced closer toward the tiny room, which I knew for a fact was much too small, much too constricting for me.

Sentinel could not possibly be this sadistic. He must have known about Seeker claustrophobia. Who in their right minds would force a flier into a compartment so small? I shook my helm in denial, and convinced myself that this was simply a cruel trick to upset my resistance. Sentinel was not actually planning on locking me in here. He could not lock me in here. He did not have the authority to treat me in such a manner and expect to—

My peds disappeared into the dark hole, and my denial shattered. Coolant washed down my cheek plates, and I screamed.

A renewed wave of terror crashed into my spark, and I screamed, its sheer volume and pitch piercing to even my own audials. However, despite my violent writhing and most aggressive of efforts, Sentinel continued to press me into the tiny space, completely relentless and resolved to push me in. Fear punched me straight in the core, and I almost felt my spark combust inside my spark chamber. Primus, he was really going to do it. He was really going to lock me inside this tiny hole!

"No!" I shrieked with all my vocalizer capacity, "Please! Stop!" I began to beg, shaking my helm side to side and sobbing my optics out. "Please stop it!" I pleaded, and felt another scream rip from my vocalizer as I watched my thighs disappear into the dark, little compartment. "No!" I wrestled against Sentinel's hold on my arms, and fought so hard that I felt dents forming on the plating his fingers were clenching tightly into.

I was frantic. I was desperate. I was willing to give anything I could offer just to avoid being pushed into the small, black space.

"Please don't! I'm begging you, please don't!"

My intakes spluttered, and I shook. My vents made hard, short blasts of hot air, and my systems became overheated. The energon in my fuel lines raced as I continued to struggle, and pleas never stopped leaving my lips even as I cried. My voice was broken and laced with static, and at the back of my mind, something snapped.

"Thundercracker! Skywarp!" I screamed for my trine mates, frame rattling so hard that warnings began to blare in my processors. My intakes hitched, and dizziness slammed into me as my plating grew unbearably hot. I cried harder, and everything around me suddenly became utterly terrifying.

My trine mates were not responding. They were not answering.

Coolant streamed down my faceplate at such an amount that I could barely see. All I could spot through my blurry vision was the dark hole about to swallow me up, already swallowing me up, with its gaping mouth gleeful and sinister.

"No!" Another screech of fearful hysteria left my lips when I saw my lower half completely disappear into the compartment. "No! Please! I'll do anything! Don't make me go in there! _Don't make me go in there!_" I tossed around with so much force that my arm joints were starting to throb, the cables connecting them to my torso straining under the vigorous tug and pull. Red, flashing alerts warning me of the numerous dangerous conditions of my systems bombarded my overwhelmed processors. I could no longer form coherent sentences, shrieking and thrashing and crying brokenly.

"Nightfire!"

Nightfire was not here.

"M-Megatron!"

Megatron was already loaded into another hovercraft.

"Skyfire! _Skyfire!_"

Skyfire was dead.

Despair crushed my spark, and I offlined my optics, no longer able to withstand the sight of my frame slowly disappearing, bit by bit, into the tiny, crammed space. I wept, coolant dripping down my chin and sliding down along the glass of my heaving canopy. I was so terrified that I was reduced to a trembling sparkling, logic circuits scrambled and spark overtaken by such frantic panic that I did not know at all what to do.

Sentinel gave me once last shove, and I felt my aft come in contact with cushion. I felt him enter after me, and the thought of the already tiny space decreasing even further shocked and horrified me so much that I did the last thing I could.

I onlined my optics, and lifted my helm.

I caught sight of his faceplate, and, despite my blurry vision, spotted his shinning, blue optics.

"…P—Please…" I whispered, shaking so badly that my wings vibrated against his chassis.

"…Please…!" My vocalizer broke into static halfway through my plea, but that did not matter.

Coolant slid down along the sides of my faceplate, and I sweetly smiled.

"P-Please…" My voice was soft and raspy, my vocalizer sore and scratched, "…if you…spare me…I'll let you—…

"…take me…"

My thighs shakily parted, and the small click my valve panel made as it slid open was thunderous in the silence.

"…You want to touch me…don't you…?" I leaned back, and pressed against his frame.

"You _desire_ me…don't you…?" I licked my parted lips with my glossa, and heatedly whispered.

My trembling fingers blindly felt around, and eventually rested on hard plating, blisteringly hot. From the way the Prime flinched, I knew, at once, that I had found his codpiece.

I plastered the most beautiful smile I had onto my coolant-stained features, and spoke to him softly with a sensuous moan:

"…I'll let you _frag me_, Sentinel…"

My thighs continued to shake, and the air was cold against the naked sensors of my bared valve.

For a long moment, Sentinel Prime did not move.

I could not understand why he did not move, because from the way his crotch plating burned, I knew he wanted me.

However, despite his obvious desire, he only watched my faceplate, expression unreadable and darkened by shadows.

When he finally did move, it was not what I expected.

He took out something from subspace, and stuck it right against my neck cables. It pinched painfully, and I whimpered, wings quivering.

I looked up at him, trying to ask what he was doing, but I could not seem to find the words.

His features betrayed no emotion, but his hand was shaking as he reached for the device he had connected to my neck.

He pressed a button, and a sharp, electric current surged through my system.

My frame grew rigid for a short klik, before my joints began to lose their tension. My systems were being manually turned off one by one, and I suddenly felt extremely drowsy.

_Stasis lock: Imminent._

A warning on my HUD told me, but I could not figure out what it meant.

The last thing I saw before I sunk into unconsciousness was Sentinel's hand reaching down between my still parted thighs, and carefully sliding my valve panel back in place.

* * *

><p><strong>Note:<strong> I'm quite surprised that I managed to finish editing this monster in two days. I apologize if its quality is not that good, as I kind of rushed through it. Sorry about the long wait between this update and the previous one as well! Good news is: I'm done with all my exams! And, despite having summer courses, I'll have much more time to work on this story. :)

Special thanks to my wonderful reviewers: _lildevchick, Devlinn Reiko, Chibi Oro, Pandablubb, ChaosGarden, Ashcola17, The Happy Shark, Koluno1986, rj545, PwnKage, Shouting-mime, iolper, The-writing-Mew, Riley, and _. Hearing from you guys always make me smile. Riley: I-I never got your message. D: I don't know if FF glitched or if something else happened, but I never received a PM from you.

Hmm, some explanations about this chapter: I decided to skip the memory-banking hacking scene for the sake of moving the plot onward. I think it's pretty obvious that the Autobots are behind his capture, so to write it seemed a little rhetorical. I really have no idea what Rumble and Frenzy were before they became cassettes, so I just made them mini-bots for the sake of convenience.

I feel like this chapter is important for numerous reasons, some more obvious than others. I believe this chapter holds the first blatant clue that not all is well with Starscream, but some of you might have caught snippets earlier on. Hopefully, this hasn't disturbed you too much, haha! In lighter news, the war is well on its way, which means the exciting stuff is incoming!

Please drop me a review and let me know what you think. It really means a lot to receive your feedback. I'm in the process of writing a thank-you special, which should be ready for posting shortly.

Thanks once again!

…And you know you want to press the nice, big button just below this message! ;p


	11. XIII, i

Disclaimer: Do not own TF franchise.

**WARNING:** Poorly edited. I apologize in advance. D:

* * *

><p>XIII<p>

(i)

Rising out of recharge has never been so slow and difficult before.

My systems activated one by one. My processors carefully monitored their progress. They ran detailed diagnostics, which was why, when I regained partial awareness, I remained unable to move. My optics could be activated, but my sight was heavily impaired. I could distinguish where there was light and darkness. However, everything beyond that was a heavy blur, made up of large shapes and blotches of faded colours.

Someone was carrying me. That someone was a ground pounder. I could tell from how clumsily he held me. My wings were uncomfortable, angled awkwardly on my back to allow a thick arm to wrap under my torso. Another thick arm hooked under my knee joints, and my peds swung minutely, dangling in the air.

My helm was resting on warm, hard plating, which emitted a quiet, strumming noise. It was the sound of a spark, I thought, and, based on its proximity, I assumed that I was leaning against the ground pounder's chassis.

I could feel restraints around my wrists, but I could not remember why they were there. I tried to turn my helm to get a better grasp of my surroundings, but there was little I could see, my optics only functioning at approximately twenty-five percent. I shifted a little, and watched with slight confusion as a large blot of red tilted down from above me. Twin orbs of bright, blue light peered down, and their hue was hypnotizing.

Someone was speaking. I could only assume that it came from the ground pounder who was carrying me, because I could not see anyone else around. My vocalizer was still offline, so I could not reply. Even if I could, I would not have known what to say. My processors were drenched in fatigue. My consciousness was slipping. I stared blankly at the floating, blue orbs until everything faded to darkness once more, and I slept, exhaustion heavy on my systems.

The next time I gained partial awareness, I was only slightly more alert.

I could hear better. I could tell voices apart, and I could vaguely understand what they were saying.

"…-want to see—…Vos requesting the return of its sovereign-…" One voice said.

"-Trial…-hear—early hearing—…Starscr—" Another answered.

"-Two joors, two j—" A third voice murmured. "…Senate arrival, the counsel-…"

"…can wait." A forth voice, closer than the rest, spoke. "I have questions that-…his Majesty…-need answers…" It morphed in and out at odd intervals, but even through the weighty haze of impending recharge, I felt its strength and command.

The voices continued to argue quietly, and I fell back into the comfort and quiet of rest.

Louder voices jolted me awake. I tried to shake my processors clear of grogginess, but it was difficult. I squirmed in the arms that carried me, and tried my best to drag myself out of the dark pit of unconsciousness. I onlined my optics, and I was pleased to realize that my sight had mostly returned, to approximately seventy-percent. However, due to the poor lighting system of…wherever I was, there was a limit to what I could see.

The first thing I recognized was the Autobot insignia on the chassis my helm was resting against. The paintjob quickly told me that I knew this mech, though the thought did not exactly comfort me. It made me grow nervous instead, tensing the cables in my joints. I turned my helm, and caught sight of the red blot I had seen the first time I had gained some form of coherent thought. The red blot was a faceplate, and it belonged to Sentinel Prime.

He was carrying me.

The notion made me extremely uncomfortable, so I began to weakly struggle. Sentinel continued to walk down the noisy…corridor? However, when he felt me move in his arms, he quickly looked down.

"You should rest, Starscream," His voice was deep and smooth. His optics were not as piercing and intimidating as I remembered. "Your systems will take longer than usual to reboot after forced stasis, so you should recharge. It will speed up the rebooting process."

"…Wh-Where—…?" I tried to speak up, but all that left my lips was a whisper.

"Don't concern yourself with that right now," He instructed evenly, "Recharge."

I wanted to protest, but my vocalizer stopped working altogether. Sighing through my vents, I leaned my helm against his chassis once more, and offlined my optics.

I must have been extremely tired, for I fell into sleep barely a few kliks after.

By the time my systems had finally fully recovered, my internal chronometer told me that two and three-quarters joors had already passed. I was momentarily confused upon waking, looking around at my surroundings, which were…not a cell. At first, I did not understand why I was not placed in a cell with my trine and Megatron. It took me several kliks to realize that I was in a private interrogation room, cut off from the rest of the prison facilities. I almost felt annoyed with myself for expecting any less. After all, I was no common criminal. Sentinel Prime undoubtedly thought I deserved special treatments.

I sneered in revulsion, and pulled sulkily at the restraints chaining my wrists to the arms of the chair. While my memory banks had become somewhat foggy, I still remembered snippets of what had happened when the Prime forced me into the tiny compartment of the hovercraft. Just the thought of how much of myself I had unintentionally exposed to him filled my spark with disgust, fear, and shame. I could not even feel angry. Under normal circumstances, I would have been infuriated with how small and weak I had felt. However, as I sent half-sparked glares at the door to the interrogation room, I could not muster enough strength in me to rouse up humiliated rage.

Instead of wallowing in self-pity, I started running diagnostics. Everything returned as positive aside from my comm. and external weapons system, which had both been manually disabled. My null rays were also missing from my shoulders, but that did not alarm me. My laser cannons were still hidden away. The ground pounders had not found them, and I allowed myself to feel an inkling of pride. My laser cannons, while not as advanced as my null rays, were very powerful despite their size. They had more than enough fire power to deactivate all Autobot Senators with minimum of fuss.

Satisfied that everything was going according to plan, I began to survey the interrogation room. Much to my relief, it was large, and it was dark for the most part. The walls were thick, insulated, and I suspected that they were soundproof as well. The room was probably under surveillance, despite the lack of visible cameras. Shadows crowded all the corners, unhindered by the tiny light overhanging from the ceiling.

There was only one table in the room, and at each of its ends sat two chairs. I was in one of the chairs, and my interrogator would sit in the other. There was nothing on the table, not even a scratch for me to study out of boredom. I had just begun to scrutinize the door simply because I had nothing better to do when it slid open, and Sentinel Prime strode in, red faceplate an expressionless mask.

I instantly scowled, and glared at him vehemently, optics narrowing in hostility. However, he did not react to my behaviour in the slightest, and merely entered the room at a measured pace. The door slid closed, locking behind him with an audible click, and he approached the table, studying me with an unreadable look in his blue optics. He slowly pulled back the vacant chair, and his vents made a quiet sigh as he sat down. Setting his arms down on the table, he intertwined his fingers, and, for a long moment, simply looked at me. There was the slightest dip between his brow-ridges, one that could almost be called a frown. I could not read him, and the silence quickly became suffocating, stifling the air with tension and unease.

I stared back at the Prime, not willing to avert my gaze as long as he held mine. My wings wanted to twitch, and, to resist the urge, I took to studying his expression. Sentinel looked every bit as impressive and relentlessly strong as before, yet there was something different in the way he carried himself. I did not know what it was, and it made me momentarily lose my scowl to a frown. I was confused. Something was decisively discrepant about him. However, before I could determine what it was, he looked away, and took out an energon cube from subspace before sliding it across the table toward me.

I immediately grew suspicious. Leaning away from the cube, I curled my lips in distaste, and sent him pointed glances. Even if my tank was parched, I would not degrade myself by consuming grounder fuel. Was this some pathetic attempt at hospitality? What was he trying to accomplish by offering me an energon cube?

Silence quickly grew awkward and uncomfortable around us. I shifted in my seat, and half-sparkedly pulled at the restraints. Sentinel returned to watching me, and the way his optics searched mine was making my neural sensors prickle. He seemed to be looking for an answer, but I did not even know what the question was. The pacific way he was using in attempts to find it made me feel even more violated than if he were to simply force it out of me by any means necessary.

I finally buckled under his highly irritating, invasive scrutiny, and snapped.

"What do you want!" My sharp voice rang inside the room, and I almost winced at how raspy and audial-grating I sounded. I knew I was not blessed with a pleasant vocalizing system, but the way my voice penetrated the air was ridiculous even by my standards.

I felt a tiny fleck of admiration toward Sentinel when he did not make any indication of flinching at my pitch, but it did not last long. The fact that he did not seem bothered in the slightest instantly made me irritable. Not even my last resort in offense could inflict any damage, and that, by a backward sense of logic, did not sit well with my pride at all.

"_Well_?" I grew even more snappish, and struggled against the bonds in my chair, "Are you going to ask me questions or are you just going to sit there and stare at me like a glitched idiot for the whole night cycle?"

He did not rise to my bait. His expressionless faceplate remained unreadable, but he chose to answer:

"I have all the evidence I need to condemn you for treason. Therefore, an interrogation is unnecessary."

"Treason?" I gave a short, loud burst of laughter, and pinned him with a heated stare. "Don't be stupid, Prime. What's there for me to commit treason against? I never gave a damn about your pathetic excuse of a government."

"Even so, Cybertron is under Autobot control, and Vos is a city on Cybertron, independent or not." He replied, and laced his fingers again, casually placing his arms on the table as though he was conversing with an old friend.

"Don't patronize me," I hissed with a snarl, making a grimace. "Just tell me what you're actually here to say."

"Very well," With a note of finality, Sentinel began to drone in a dry, flat voice: "The Senate has decided, while in Autobot custody, you will be treated with caution but maximum of comfort. Until the temporary council has assembled in the court chamber, you will remain here, guarded, but protected. Your trine mates have also been placed under similar treatments, but in separate interrogation rooms. Nothing will happen to any of you until the counsel has reached a temporary verdict based on your currently known crimes. The investigation for the extent of your participation in Kaon's underground movement will then commence, and once it is completed, a final verdict will be passed by the Supreme Court of Cybertron."

I did not comment or make any objections. Not that I needed to. I was certain my expression told Sentinel everything he needed to know about where I thought the Senate should shove their pompous arrogance. Did they honestly believe Vos would simply sit back and allow them to keep me locked up until they figure out what to do with me? My army would sooner eradicate Iacon to the ground.

As though he had read my thoughts, Sentinel immediately went on to address such issue, speaking in the most boring tone he could possibly make:

"After the temporary verdict has been made, you will be allowed limited radio contact with Vos to discourage any potential act of hostility your city might consider in response to your captivity. The Senate does not wish to resort to violence, but if the safety of ground-pound civilians is jeopardized, they are prepared to retaliate in full force."

"Oh I'm _sure_ the safety of the common mech is _every_thing on their rusting processors." I drawled sarcastically and distastefully, curling my lips in a mocking manner.

At first, Sentinel Prime did not reply. A long moment passed, and, slowly and deliberately, he stood up from his seat.

A little alarmed at having an already tall ground pounder loom over me even more, my scowl lost a little of its displeasure in preference to nervousness. This was the mech who had attacked me in the dark conference room at the Autobot headquarters in Iacon, the mech who had forced me into a tiny compartment of a hovercraft. I was more than a little wary to be bound to a chair and locked in the same room with him.

"I must respectfully remind you, Prince Starscream, that the one who will be leading such retaliations is not going to be cowardly Senators." His optics were bright in the gloom of the interrogation room, and he spoke softly, but his voice carried an underlining note of threat that made my wing joints tense on my back. "I promise you: if the order is passed, I will lead my mechs to battle without any reservation." His massive form was unnervingly still, and he stared down at me, expression firm and resolve unyielding. "I will not allow any civilians to suffer at the hands of petty politicians. I am prepared to do everything necessary to ensure that the war you desire with disgusting anticipation is not going to happen."

"What a hypocrite you are, Sentinel," My fingers curled into my palms, and I finally regained the nerve to sneer up at him, "Your civilians are already suffering. I'm almost disappointed that you do not see it."

"Mechs are not equal. Sacrifices must be made." He simply answered.

"The mass makes sacrifices for the pleasures of a few…You are much more alike to those Senators you're so keen on belittling than you think." I retorted, words clipped and sharp.

"Stability is what Cybertron needs, not an upheaval from crooks and criminals with help from a spoiled prince who has nothing better to do with his time than entertain the notion that he knows what's best for a planet he couldn't care less about." The Prime replied evenly, optics meeting my pointed gaze without a single hint of uncertainty. "You should have heeded my warning before you'd sunk too deep into this affair, Starscream. I will not express my views toward your exportation of weaponry to a group of rowdy gladiators for your own entertainment, but to offer direct support to the assassination of Senator Decimus and actively encourage war that could and would ultimately cost the sparks of your own fliers? I thought you were above such stupidity."

The anger I had been lacking since the beginning of our encounter instantly surged through my system as my spark flared in my spark chamber. How _dare_ he accuse me of mistreating the lives of my fliers!

"Sinking to petty insults, Sentinel Prime?" I gritted my dentae, and bit out, glaring at his ugly red faceplate with mounting hatred. I would have said more, but there was a matter that was too peculiar for me to put off for discussion.

"And what's this slag about me exporting weaponry to Megatron?" I was not about to roll over and let Sentinel pin me down for things I had not done. I had no idea where Megatron got his weapons, and I did not particularly care. However, I was extremely offended that Sentinel would think I was stupid enough to allow ground pounders access to Vosian technology. Why would I offer an arrogant and ambitious miner turned visionary weapons that he might possibly use in the future against me?

"I do not know why you insist on feigning innocence over this matter. It will do you little good." Sentinel spoke in a slight murmur, and made the first facial indication of emotion since his entrance into the interrogation room. He pursed his lips, clearly unimpressed, and I almost activated my hidden laser cannons to shoot him. He was treating me like a misbehaving youngling, a mistake that he would very soon terribly regret.

"I'm not feigning anything." I narrowed my optics further, and my glare grew even more heated.

"I have more than enough proof of your visit to Kaon in secret." The Prime crossed his arms behind his back, and stared down at me, looking almost bored with my attempts at making him see fault in his assumptions. "I don't see why you continue to deny the encounter you had with Megatron during that night cycle."

For a spark-seizing moment, I almost thought he had somehow seen Megatron ravish me against the wall outside the arena compounds. However, before I could become inappropriately flustered, my logic center helpfully informed me that if he did indeed see that little episode of passion, he probably would not be talking to me about it.

Then, suddenly, everything made sense.

Sentinel had suspected me since the beginning that I was the one supporting Megatron's little plan of planetary domination. He had thought that _I_ was supplying the weapons, and that I was already involved in trying to plunge Cybertron into war even before Soundwave had started pestering my Fighter Jets. He had threatened me on that night in Iacon because he thought I was in an alliance with Megatron before I even knew about Megatron's agenda at all.

I stared up at him, finding this whole situation so ridiculous and ironic that I wanted to laugh. However, I kept my vocalizer silent, too incredulous with how accurately he had predicted what indeed transpired between Megatron and I to speak or make any commentary. "Think what you must," I ended up saying, and made a scoffing huff with my vents, "If you wish to be the fool, then do as you please." I leaned back in my chair, and regarded him with impassive optics. "I do not care what you think." With the matter concluded, I promptly ignored him, and tried to find a comfortable position in my seat, since I was obviously going to be stuck in this room for a while.

"You _should_ care about what I think, Starscream," His optics narrowed so minutely that I almost missed it, but the simple motion made his demeanor change by such a degree that I instantly felt the temperature in the room make a significant drop. I tensed in the chair, and watched him warily as his stare suddenly gained a sharp edge.

"As I have told you before: War will not happen as long as I am Prime."

The silence that hovered in the air after his statement was thick with tension. While I knew the chance of him attacking me was very low, especially after what I had done when he pushed me too far, I was still much more intimated by him than I would have liked to admit. I did not think for a klik that he cared about me, or that his impression of me has changed over the past few joors. He was only interested in making a frightened Seekerling out of me, and what bothered me the most was that he was partially succeeding.

However, he was making one fundamental mistake.

I felt the urge to smirk swell in my spark.

He was underestimating me.

He was clearly undermining my intelligence and my power. He had too quickly assumed that I was the same as the Autobot Senators: consumed by self-interest and cowardice. He was blinded by his prejudice toward anyone with political power, believing greed to be what compelled all who belonged to the higher class. He thought I could be swayed by his threats because he believed me a brat who was born into too many privileges. He was convinced that I thought everything was a game, and that I had only wanted a laugh when I allied myself with Megatron.

My spark seethed with gleeful rage, and I felt my urge to smirk right into his ugly faceplate grow.

Nothing had been a game since Firechaser.

War was to happen, and Vos would play an integral role in its inevitable arrival.

I continued to stare at Sentinel, daring him to break the silence. I was not going to acknowledge his silly threat. If anything, he had sealed his own fate.

War was to happen, and he would the first to perish with the weak.

Silence simmered in the interrogation room. Sentinel and I continued to watch each other. If the guard outside had not chosen that moment to knock on the door, we would have carried on for joors. Sentinel was forced to break our optic contact, and I tilted my chin upward, pleased even if he did not actually back down.

One had to take little pleasures in life. No one said our staring contest had to be fair.

I smirked, and regarded the Prime and the guard with minimal interest as they quietly conversed. Apparently all Senators in surrounding cities had arrived. The temporary council had gathered, and it was time for me to make my appearance before them in court.

Excitement began to spread from my spark. The thought of the Senates' impending demise by my hands made my entire sensor net quiver with expectant exhilaration. My wingtips tingled as my internal weapon system activated with a surge of warmth. Such a shame I could not see Megatron before I entered the court chamber. I would have liked to display my wings proudly for him as I made my way to ignite the beginning of our war.

"You will be taken to the court chamber now, your Highness," Sentinel turned back to speak to me, and I lifted up a brow-ridge at his sudden address of my title. "You will stand before the council, and you will plead your case."

"Trust me, Sentinel," I sent a smirk toward him, and challenged him with my optics, "there won't be any pleading on my part."

Sentinel studied my expression for a brief moment, but he did not reply. He only sent the guard a small wave of a hand, and the guard approached me to remove my restraints. After freeing me from the chair, he clipped the cuffs around my wrists, and gave me a nudge toward the door. I responded to his impudence with a glare, but chose not to speak. As I left the interrogation room, another guard joined the first, and they both steered me to the court chamber.

As we turned around the corner down the hall, I glanced back at the Prime. He was watching me, silent with his hands held behind his back. His brow-ridges were slightly furrowed, but I could not decide whether he was frowning in confusion or in thought. I did not have the time to decipher his odd expression. The guards tugged me around the corner, and Sentinel disappeared from my sight.

For the first time since arriving at the Autobot prison establishment at Kaon, I took a look of my surroundings. There was not much to see. The walls were thick plated, rough and dull. They had no paint, but rust had smeared them brown in some places. Pipes hung overhead, half-hidden in shadows. Every once in a while, they groaned like a mech in agony, and I felt my wings twitch uncomfortably on my back.

The hall the guards were taking me through was wide, but even with its sufficient space, I felt suffocated. There was barely enough light to illuminate its size, which made it take the appearance of a narrow corridor. The guards' heavy ped-falls and the light click-clacks of my thruster heels echoed in the dim, lengthy passageway. From a distance, I could hear banging and shouting, and I found myself wondering if one of them belonged to Megatron.

I quickly shook my helm, clearing my processors. Megatron was not one to yell and make a ruckus like a common slag-starter. I could picture him sitting in his cell, regarding everything with cold optics, waiting for everything to go precisely as he had planned. My wings gave another twitch, and I wished earnestly that he could see me deactivate the Senate.

The guards gave me glances at my small movements, but they did not ask any questions. We approached a heavy, bolted door, and one of the guards reached for the keypad to enter the pass-code. There was an awful lot of noise coming from behind the blocked entrance, and I frowned in confusion. Why was the court chamber filled with such commotion?

I got my answer when the keypad beeped green, and the bolt was lifted.

Chaos.

That was the only word adequate to describe what greeted my optics as the door slid open with a pressurized hiss. Lining both sides of the long passageway were large cells, full of ground pounders stomping their peds, swinging their fists, and screaming in mad rage. They even dared to come right up against the crackling energon bars, mouths wide open as they howled obscenities at the guards standing on station. Some of the guards were already actively trying to subdue them with electric shock rods. However, nothing they did seemed to deter their prisoners' aggressive behaviour.

I stood, shocked still, at the entrance of the corridor, gaping at the sheer number of prisoners. I was quite amazed that the Autobots managed to squeeze in so many mechs with such limited amount of space. Primus, what an arrest the Autobot security force made. Each cell was overfilling with ground pounders.

The guards yanked at my arms to keep me moving, and I struggled in annoyance, giving them each a nasty sneer. However, I did as I was told, comforted by the thought that everything was going according to plan. I passed by the cells, and immediately attracted attention from the raging prisoners. I quickly became a popular target for threats and jeers, inappropriate commentary flying at me from all direction in rapid succession.

"Gettin' an early hearing?" A large grounder with a gruff voice jerked his chin at me, thin lips pulled into a wide leer, "Betcha suck spike real good fer 'em Senates t'be so eager t' see ya." The group around him quickly joined him in his condescending heckling, bursting out in loud, gibing laughter.

"Not that I can blame 'em," Another grounder added, leaning so close to the energon bars that they illuminated his ugly features with a ghastly glow. "I wouldn't mind givin' his tight little aft a poundin' myself!" Crude guffawing followed, and I stiffly turned away, hands curling into tight fists

With each cell I passed, similar comments followed. They seem to grow more cross by the klik, and I had to bite down on my dentae to keep myself from lashing out in response. My optics narrowed to slits, and I took to scowling at them with obvious disdain and disgust. However, my glaring only seemed to encourage them further, their leers stretching wider and calls getting louder.

"Hearin' us get your lubricant flowin', sweet spark?" An exceptionally bulky mech called out, voice strangely thin and pinched. "Y' want a piece of this?" He suddenly grabbed his codpiece in a manner most lewd, and I immediately snapped my helm away with a grimace, cheek-plates scorching hot as hilarious laughter rang from that cell.

To my surprise, the guards did not attempt to dissuade the prisoners at all. In fact, they actually seemed to be enjoying the taunting.

"Nice friends," One of them gave my arm a small nudge, and snickered.

I only pressed my lips together, and stared straight ahead, not acknowledging anything around me.

"Maybe we should throw him in just to see what happens." A guard on station mused aloud, chuckling darkly, "I bet it'll be better than all the interface simulation vids out on the market."

"Primus's leakin' valve – What kind of vids do you watch?" The one standing closest to him made a sound of disgust, but he gave his friend a slap on the arm, and they laughed.

My wing joints tensed. My steps became hurried. The overwhelming heat in the passageway made my tank churn in discomfort, and the open hostility targeting me made me feel much more vulnerable than I should. The swift, messy air currents from cooling fans made a mess of my flight system with undecipherable data. My processors were aching. I just wanted to go to the court room and get this slag over with.

As I neared the exit to this smelting pit, I suddenly felt a prickling sensation trail up along the joints of my wings. Someone was watching me, and I felt a small rise in core temperature in response to such scrutiny. I did not understand why I was reacting in such a manner. I frowned, and, prompted by intuition, turned to my right. There he was, the mech studying me with the brightest and most vicious pair of optics in the gloom of the large prison cells.

Megatron.

My spark quivered.

Megatron was sitting at the back of the cells, his massive frame shrouded by shadow, making him appear even larger and more menacing to the observer. Only his faceplate was in view, the piercing light glowing hauntingly from his optics casting a sheen to his scarred, scowling features. His lips were stretched into a sneering, feral grin, dentae gritted tightly together. His glare was cold, yet fiery, giving his snarling smirk an especially frightening appearance, raw and ferocious. The twin crimson streaks staining his cheek plates were peeling even more than before, making the scratches and imperfections on his derma even more pronounced. He looked at me with calculating expectance, and his gaze penetrated my spark with, spearing it with a whirlwind of emotions.

He truly looked like a beast then, and I almost licked my lips with my glossa…

Instead, I simply stared back at him, optics slightly widened and intakes stalling silently. I did not even notice my steps slowing down until the guard on my right gave me a small push.

"Don't worry about them." This Autobot seemed to be a little more sympathetic, voice carrying a softer note than all the other mechs around me. "They're not your friends anymore."

They were never my friends, I thought, but I kept that to myself. My vocalizer had frozen as I tried to keep Megatron's optics, entranced by their exceptional shine.

"You should be more worried about what you're going to say to the council." The guard advised, but his hand around my arm was firm. My escorts took me up the stairs to the exit door, and I lost sight of Megatron as I was guided through it.

The door slid closed, and the noise died down.

Turning my helm back around, I sighed through my vents. The guards and I were met with no other disruption along the rest of the way to the court chamber, but the heavy silence was agitating. We eventually came to a stop in front of a large door, which I could only assume led to the courtroom. None of the guards explained. They held me to be as still as they were while we waited. My wings swung back and forth anxiously, and I bit my lips, brow-ridges in a slight frown.

Finally, the large door hissed open, and I hastily checked the status of my internal weapon system. Finding it fully functional and charged, I cycled air through my intakes, and held my helm high as I was escorted past the threshold.

The door indeed led to the court chamber, which had a circular structure. I was led onto a platform suspended in the middle, facing a large, mostly vacant balcony of Autobot Senators regarding me with shiny, blue optics. A mech sat in the center, and more sat in chairs beside him in rolls. Along the metal railing of the balcony were monitors, where my basic information and my crimes were displayed, accompanied by visual profiles of my faceplate and frame. I studied the pictures, and pursed my lips in displeasure. Where in the pits did the Autobots get these pictures? They did not capture the essence of my perfection at all.

The guards left me on the platform, and turned to go to their designated posts while the session was in procession. However, before they could go far, the mech in the middle placed down his data-pad, and immediately waved them back with a guttural noise of dismay.

"For Primus's sakes, what's with the cuffs!" He exclaimed in great disapproval, "I thought I told you to treat our most esteemed guest with the best of hospitality, not tie him up like a criminal! Uncuff him at once!" With snappish barks, he huffed with seeming anger. The guards hurried to obey, and took off the restraints around my wrists.

"I apologize for their incompetence, your Majesty," The mech went on to say, leaning forward and bowing his helm in false pleasantries, "I hope their minor transgression will not inhibit your leniency toward aiding us in finding a suitable solution to this simple misunderstanding." He gave me a smile that did not reach his optics, and I sent him a glare in response.

"Incompetence of subordinates is a sole reflection of incompetence of those in command, my dear Senator," I spoke smoothly, and softened my voice into a purr. "Surely you are aware of that." I gave the Autobot a teasing smirk, and felt my spark skip with glee when his joints tightened in slight tension at my jibe.

"Let us not start on such an unpleasant note, your Highness," The mech waved my comments aside, and plastered on an amiable smile, "Every one of us here only holds the best of intention toward you. After all, good relation with Vos is very important to all of us. We only wish to sustain the ever-long-lasting friendship between Vos and Iacon despite of this…minor hindrance, shall we say?" He gave me a grin, faceplate wrinkling into a visage of fake cordiality. "If you can grace us with your cooperation, Prince Starscream, I am most certain that nothing is irresolvable."

"Save your slick glossas for those who give a slag, Autobot, and get on with it already." With no patience for their slimy pretense, I spoke curtly, and regarded the mech with a cool look of disinterest. Shock toward my attitude washed over the Senate. Some of them shook their helms disapprovingly, while others murmured. I crossed my arms over my chassis, and fanned out my wings to their full span. I had no intention of putting up with these oil politicians and their petty little games. I was here for one reason only, and that reason had no compromise.

False amiability bled from the Senator's faceplate, and his smile dropped to a scowl. Intakes hissing, he sat back in his chair, and tried to stare me down. I only tilted up my chin, and let out a brisk, humourless huff. I could stare him down much better than how he could do me.

"Fine," When he next spoke, his voice was terse and stiff, "Special hearing by the Kaon council will now commence." All the other Senators held up their data pads, and my trial had begun.

"Prisoner Starscream," The middle mech spoke, and I narrowed my optics at him for addressing me in such a manner. "As the official sovereign of Vos, your actions alone dictate the political standpoint of your city, correct?"

"Affirmative." I answered in a flat, bored tone.

"You are also aware that, despite being an independent city-state, Vos must abide to Greater Cybertronian Laws in accordance to the Treaty of Iacon signed by your creator, the previous King of Vos, and the Autobot Senate of Cybertron, correct?"

"Affirmative." I replied evenly, and held back the urge to smirk as some Senates were starting to grow restless by how stark I was being. Really, there was no point in darting around the subject with them. After all, they would not live beyond the night cycle.

"Section three-hundred-and-twelve, clause three-dash-C, line ten of the Treaty of Iacon clearly states that should any action threatening the peace of Cybertron be taken by either political institutions, the responsible group or groups will be condemned of treason, regardless of societal position." The middle mech spoke briskly, clutching the data-pad in his hands tightly between his fingers. "And you, prisoner Starscream, are accused of supplying known criminals with dangerous weaponry in active support of their terrorist movement as well as their attack on Senator Decimus. Is there anything you wish to say in your defense?"

I parted my peds into a more comfortable width, and leaned my weight on my left hip.

"No," My voice held a lilt of amusement, "Everything you say is correct."

The middle mech paused, and more murmurs erupted between the other Senators. They debated amongst themselves just what I was playing at, and I merely watched, optics focused and lips tilted into a hint of a smile.

"…There is more than enough evidence to prove your affiliation with this criminal group, Starscream," The middle mech spoke slowly, narrowing his optics at me, "Should the final verdict of your trial be guilty, you will be executed, and your city will fall under direct Autobot authority. Do you understand what I am saying to you?" He leaned forward a little, and dared to carry, in his voice, a hint of belittlement.

All humour left me in an instant. I uncrossed my arms, and my smirk dropped to a snarl.

"Don't insult me, Autobot. I know exactly what you are saying." I replied with a cold bite, wings making sharp flicks. "If you are done greasing your thick processors with self-righteousness, listen up. I have a message for all of you."

_That_ caught their full attention in an instance. I stood up straighter, and held my wings in pride as complete silence filled the court chamber.

"You are more blind than I thought if you'd think I will simply allow you to do as you please with me and my city," I scanned the room, and glared at every single one of those bulky-afted glitch-helms. "Your sad and unrealistic ambition to wrangle Vos under your command is laughable at best – an unattainable dream conceived by the greed of old fools."

My lips curled, and the derma of my faceplate stretched along with the mad, delighted smile.

"You still don't seem to understand, Autobot," I addressed the middle mech in address to all, "Through your own interests, _you_ created this." My gaze swept across the crowd of gold-plated faceplates, their glittering features festering with wealth of the corrupt. "_You_ brought us together. _You_ gave us the same goal. Through your own violations, you transgressed on us and made us _one_."

My optics narrowed to slits, and I grinned.

"You didn't just make it possible," My voice reached a seductive growl, and I let out a dark laugh, breathy and low,

"_You_ made it _happen_."

For a long moment, none of the Senates replied.

The silence grew stale, and finally, the middle mech shuttered his optics, shaking his helm clear to ask in a whisper:

"…What are you talking about, Prince Starscream?"

I did not answer right away, only gracing him with a somewhat incredulous stare.

"Oh stop it, Autobot, enough is enough. I sicken of your continuous feigning of innocence." I scowled with visible loathing, and clenched my hands into tight fists. I had delivered my message. My purpose here was done. This meeting was to end, and, with it, the lives of all Autobot Senators present at my hearing.

My battle computer clicked into activation as I prepared for my attack. My internal weapon system hummed, and my hidden laser cannons grew warm – warm and ready.

"I fail to see where this hostility stems from, Prince Starscream," The middle mech continued to play ignorant, glancing at his comrades with an expression of bewilderment. "We have never done anything that deserves this accusation." He spoke with a laugh of incredulity, and I immediately decided that he was going to be the first to deactivate.

"Have never done _anything_, Autobot?" I growled, anger consuming my spark at such a speed that my internal temperature instantly reached a significant increase. "How about Firechaser?" My voice lowered further, its tone dark and dangerous. "Does that ring any bells in your empty processors?"

"Firechaser?" The Autobot dared to look even more confused, frowning and leaning back a little, "What about him? He still has not been found, no?"

My wings began to tremble. I seethed, biting my jaw joints as my laser cannons prepared to be extracted.

"Still keen on keeping your act, Senator?" I spoke slowly and gently, lips feeling every syllable as I planted my thrusters further apart in a firmer stance, hips in a soft sway.

"I'm almost disappointed," I cooed, plastering on a false expression of pity: "I had expected more _begging_ from you."

With an audible snap, the panels on my shoulders retracted, and my laser cannons flipped into place as I swung up my arms, proudly displaying their deadly barrels. I took aim at the mech in the middle. A hum filled the room, and a charge began to build. The bright orbs of the pending blast filled the large chamber with a sudden burst of light, but the Autobots remained frozen on their spots, gaping at my weapons with complete shock on their faceplates.

"…S-Security! Security!" The middle mech, finally snapping out of his horrified stupor, screamed and scrambled in his seat to escape my wrath, but he was too late.

"Oh I _really_ don't think that's going to help, Autobot." With a quirk of a grin, I fired, and the Senator's helm exploded into flames. His arms flailed for a klik or two before his body promptly fell back into his chair, cold and dead. For a moment, there was only silence. Energon bubbled from the blackened mess of processor matter, and a bubble of laughter rose from deep within me, hilarious and delighted.

Aghast shouts of fear rippled across the chamber. Everything erupted into a chaotic mess as mechs jumped out of their seats and cried out for help, pushing each other aside to get to the exits. I heard the guards behind me call for back up, swinging up their blasters in preparation. Unfortunately for them, I was simply that much faster.

I swirled around, and fired my laser cannons with a wide sweep. My hits were precise, and they hit the guards right in the chassis, instantly deactivating them before they could even take aim.

Wasting no time to gloat in the glory of my kill, I turned around once more, and took a swift scan of the chamber. The Senates were still rushing to the exits while the other guards started to lift their blasters. Frantic voices cried for help, drowned out when blasters were fired. I suddenly found myself facing a rain of blasts aiming to kill.

Cursing through gritted dentae, I leapt to the side, thrusters activating to boost me higher as I dodged the shots by mere wing tips. I flipped in the air, keen optics locking on to every guard following my form with their blasters, and raised my laser cannons.

Each arm aiming for a different mech, I fired, swerving in my short flight path to avoid more shots from the guards. My smooth, sleek frame glistened under the light of their blasts. My body danced in the air. I wore a large grin on my faceplate, and I could feel my optics widening in exhilaration. I gunned down every one of the guards, and landed right in front of the first mech I killed. Looking down at the scattered processor parts and the sticky mess of energon, I laughed, and kicked the dead weight off from its perch on the chair with a ped.

I was enjoying myself so much that I did not notice one of the Senates sub-spacing a small pistol. I did not know he was shooting at me until one of his shots grazed my wings. The sharp sting sliced through my sensor net like a flaming blade, and I cried out in anger and pain. I turned, hissing out curses, and prepared to send the grounder to Unicron's pits. However, another shot finished my job for me.

A bright, purple blast blew straight through the mech's chassis, and for a brief klik, I only stared. Snapping my helm around to find the origins of the blast, I was surprised to spot Soundwave standing stoically in the shadows on one of the balcony levels, visor dimmed to a bare glow.

What in the pits was Soundwave doing here? I frowned in irritation and confusion. Shouldn't he be in the cells?

"Operation Phase Two: Commencing." Soundwave intoned, and reached to press a button on his shoulder. To my further surprise, his chest compartment opened, and what appeared to be cassettes flew out of them, transforming in the air. I recognized one of them as Laserbeak, and another turned out to be one of the insufferable twins I had met prior to entering the main arena with Megatron. Making a short huff with my vents, I sent Soundwave a small jerk of my chin in acknowledgement, and merely made glances as his strange cassettes began to chase after the panicking Senates.

"Nice little trick, Soundwave," I smirked, lifting an arm and shooting an Autobot in the back without shuttering an optic, "If I weren't so amused by your surprises I'd be angry at you for stealing my kill."

Soundwave only watched me with minimum of interest, not moving in the slightest.

Quickly becoming unnerved, I turned away, and deactivated the Senates that Soundwave's little minions were not harassing.

The court chamber became increasingly quieter until all Autobots lay dead around us. I looked around, pleased about the carnage and our efficiency. However, our fight was far from over. Ped-falls could already be heard, approaching the various entrants leading into the court chamber, and I knew our reprieve was fleeting.

"I'm going to release Megatron myself. You let out the others," I dropped hasty orders as I passed Soundwave and took off toward the main entrance. "I don't have the time to go to every single cell in this pit-hole." Without another word, I shot the keypad beside the door, and ran out as it slid open.

Barely two kliks later, I encountered my first group of guards. After engaging them in a short standoff, I jumped over their deactivated bodies, and raced down the hall. I had a few more run-ins with Autobot guards, but they were disposed of without much hassle. Before long, I burst through the door to Megatron's cells, and shot down the guards that still lingered there with a blaze of rapid laser fire. As the graying husks of the Autobots emitted sparks and smoke, I looked around, and immediately caught Megatron's optics.

They burned – a penetrating crimson. Their intensity pierced through my core, and I shivered, intakes stuttering. The scent of fresh spilt energon was thick in the air, coupled with the crisp, smoldering stench of melted plating by laser fire. It washed over my systems, tickling my olfactory receptors, and my wings, an extension of my spark, minutely shook. The deepest, most primal of desire overtook me then, a massive wave so quick and overwhelming that I was momentarily stunned, almost wavering on my peds. I looked back at him, my mech, my ground pounder, my gladiator, my commander, and I felt it – the burst of heat that raced through my energon lines like liquid flames and coated the inner walls of my valve.

Megatron…

He had moved to the front of the cell, standing tall and imposing behind the energon bars. My optics shamelessly roamed over his frame, greedily drinking in the sight of his large, battle-hardened frame, his strong hands, his thick thighs, and his scratched, battered faceplate. I slowly swayed toward him, peds light and thrusters clicking. My cooling fans whirred, and I could not determine whether my frame was heating from my previous killing spree, or from my arousal. This desire, this obsession, it was becoming harder and harder to contain. I could barely look at Megatron in the optics without feeling the utter need to throw my arms around him and tackle him to the ground.

…I wanted his chipped lip components on mine, hot glossa engaged in a heated dance for dominance. I wanted to feel his hands clutching at my frame, leaving none of my plating unclaimed. I wanted him inside my core, nestled and snug against the deepest sensor node of my valve, which was growing ever hotter and moist, clenching inside me. My spark felt so swollen that I was afraid it was going to spill out of my spark chamber, thumping and throbbing, making the energon in my fuel lines race through my system.

I had no idea how I made it to stand before him without tripping over myself. I could no longer read his expression, simply because my processors were too overcome to think about anything else aside from having a vulgar, rough interface with him right on the prison floor. I wanted him to rip me from the sky, strip me bare of all my vorns of accumulated sophistication and morality. I wanted him to frag me senseless into the ground, the idea urged to expand ever sweeter by the fact that he lusted after me too.

I could feel the heat of his frame over the buzzing warmth of the energon bars. I could see the way his fists trembled as he fought to not move, to not impulsively smash his way out of the cell and get hurt in the process just to touch me. This revelation made me reckless and arrogant, and I smirked, wings straining to fan out higher on my back. My fingers uncurled from my palms. They trialed up my trembling thighs. My intakes shuddered with a deep cycle of humid air, and my hands rested on my hips.

I looked up at him, and I dared to speak, vocalizer laced with static even as I tried my utmost best to be coy and enticing:

"Our war has begun, mighty Megatron. There's no going back now."

"I never intended to." He answered, the texture of his voice so stimulating, so different from mine that I reeled in euphoric arousal.

"I should just leave you in there," A taunting grin infected my faceplate, and I teased him, leaning so close to the energon bars that I almost got burnt. "Leave you, and reap the benefits of this war myself."

Megatron watched me with his smoldering, fiery optics, and, slowly, he replied, every syllable of his words drawing me closer and closer to complete abandonment by way of a scowled, hideous smirk.

"Then you are a _fool_, Starscream."

His growled utterance of my designation undid me. With a single, swift swing of my left arm, I shot the key pad in control of the cells. There was a splutter of sparks, and the energon bars immediately sizzled and disappeared. The last barrier between my mech and I vanished, and my arm was seized, tugged forcefully forward by rough fingers.

My canopy hit the hard plating of his chassis. Its glass scraped and screeched. I lifted my helm, mouth quivering apart with a small gasp—

And his lips crushed against mine.

Firm, insistent, and intoxicating.

And heat.

It engulfed me.

Boiling across my fuel lines and my sensory circuits.

Megatron yanked me into his arms, his sheer size easily overpowering my lithe, fragile constitution. His lips moved against mine, and it was much less a kiss than a brutal claiming. He was strength and violence, biting down hard on my bottom lip component when I stubbornly refused to let him enter my mouth with his glossa. The responding, burning surge of raw lust that shot through my system from the sudden flare of pain was so overwhelming that I cried out in a spasm, thighs squeezing together and valve tightening in wet convulsion. My lips fell apart, and his glossa invaded, deepening our kiss without any consideration for what I might have wanted. Not that it mattered. I wanted everything he was willing to give, if not more.

I kissed back, fingers grappling around his shoulders as I tugged him even closer toward me. One of his hands gripped the back of my helm, and turned me with a terse pull for his better access. His other hand wrapped around me, the perk of my aft a perfect fit into his large palm. With an especially hard yank, our crotch plates collided, and my processors stalled, accompanied by a loud, stammering gasp from my intakes. He swallowed my sharp cry of bliss, and his hand around my aft reached further inward. He forced his fingers between my tightly clenched thighs, and gave my valve panel a harsh rub.

I just about squealed under the sudden assault, clutching his shoulders tighter and frame visibly rattling. He continued to knead the thin plating, relentless as he was, heightening my pleasure. It was too much, too sudden. My wings were twitching nonstop on my back, and I tried to whimper out desperate pleas for him to be gentler with me. However, I could not. He would not allow me, his hand around the back of my helm holding me still. He was ruthless, taking anything he wanted from me without consideration, and I was powerless to stop him, squirming and making frantic little sounds. He maneuvered for both of us, and ground our crotch plates together as his fingers pressed and rubbed against the flimsy panel hiding my interface port.

The cover to my valve was beginning to slip aside, and a dribble of lubricant slid down along the inside of my right thigh. My intakes hitched. My vocalizer let out a thin, sharp whine. The alarmed thought of baring myself to not only Megatron, but all the other ground pounders around us as well startled me out of my thick haze of desire. My joints grew rigid, and my optics onlined in a flash. I immediately started to struggle in earnest, trying desperately to protect my intimacy from being seen.

As it turned out, I did not need to worry. Megatron, noticing the same thing I did, pulled away slightly, and separated our lips. I tilted my helm back, and caught sight of his faceplate. Upon seeing his expression of sheer unblemished hunger to ravish me senseless, I almost moaned, knee joints threatening to buckle under my little weight. His fingers were still snug against the cover of my valve, and they trembled with tension as they resisted with paramount effort to not push the thin plating aside to delve deep into my heated, wet port. I did not dare move. I knew our moment of clarity from committing public interface was hanging by a mere cable.

"Now…is not the time." Megatron ground out, voice coarse with interludes of static as he stared heatedly into my optics, every bit as hot and bothered as I was. "We must not allow any distractions to divert the course of our initial goal." He spoke even as his cooling fans were so loud that it almost echoed in the large cells.

"O-Of—…course…" I was amazed I could talk at all, especially with his fingers still firm against my interface port.

"We mustn't waste time." He very visibly gathered himself, and tore himself from me with nothing short of an iron will and forced determination. I was equally as reluctant, but I also knew there were much better places to frag than an Autobot cell. "The night cycle is still young. Kaon will burn before it ends." He spoke much more solidly than I could, and I was momentarily amazed, shakily nodding consciously making sure I stayed upright on my thrusters.

"I need to find my trine mates first," I turned to stare out the door I came in from, averting my gaze from Megatron on purpose. I was not certain how much control over myself I had, and I was not about to risk looking at the mech I so desperately wanted to test that control. "I need to rescue them so we can retrieve our null rays."

"Very well," Megatron might have nodded, but I could not be sure. I had already begun to walk toward the door, steps awkward and stiff. I wondered if the other ground pounders were watching me, but my spark simply refused to care. As I made impressive progress of half-stumbling through the door, I heard Megatron addressing the rest of his troops:

"All levels, all crimes, open all cells – free _everyone_, not just those that came in with us." He ordered, voice reverting back to commanding and firm. "All of them walk out with us to thank for it."

I walked down the silent hall, shaking my helm clear as I activated my navigating system to find my way back to my interrogation room. Megatron's voice continued to reach me, even as I turned the corner, teasing my sensor network with little aftershocks of pleasure.

"This is the last cycle we blow with the wind. This is the night we _harness Kaon_."

I reached between my thighs with shaky fingers, and pushed my valve cover closed when it simply refused to budge.

"This is the cycle _we ride_!"

A roar followed, the sound reverberating louder between the walls of the passageway. My frame still hummed with anticipation for Megatron's touches, even though I knew none would come, at least not until many joors later. The thought that I would be celebrating the first victory of our war with him made me much more excited than I knew I should. Shaking my helm once again, I hurried into a quiet sprint, promptly deciding to first focus on the matter at hand.

Dispelling the strong desire I still felt was difficult, but blasting several Autobots to deactivation helped immensely in getting rid of the extra charge. By the time I reached my interrogation room, my frame was no longer overheated, and my processors were once again clear.

Sentinel Prime was no longer present, undoubtedly called to the court chamber to investigate the situation, and what little number of guards who stayed behind to watch the interrogation rooms was quickly deactivated by my laser cannons. The fact that there were still guards stationed here told me that my trine mates were very likely here. I hasted to check each and every one of them, blasting keypads as I went.

I only remembered about the scrambler attached to the back of my neck cables when I tried to activate my comm. system. Cursing myself for forgetting about it, I reached behind me, and plucked the tiny device off with no small amount of pain. However, though annoying, it did not deter me beyond some wincing and gritting of dentae. Once able, I activated my manually disabled systems, and, almost simultaneously as I started various diagnostics, received a ping from my personal comm.-line. I opened it, and Nightfire's voice instantly rang through, frantic with worry.

:_Oh thank Primus you finally answered! Where on Cybertron _are_ you!_:

I flinched at the tone of his voice, but could not find enough resolve in my spark to berate him for it.

:_I think you already know, Nightfire…_: I mumbled back, feeling like a scolded sparkling. If my hazy memory files served me correctly, Vos was already aware of my current situation.

:_Oh no…please no…_: Nightfire sounded horrified, :_Please don't tell me the Autobots are right, Star…Please don't tell me you actually _did_ enter an alliance with a criminal faction…!_: He sounded so desperate for me to tell him otherwise that I actually grimaced. I could only imagine the utter chaos unfolding in Vos at the moment, after the news of my affiliation with Megatron had been unceremoniously released. I felt a little bad. Nightfire definitely did not deserve to be in the middle of this mess on top of Firechaser. It was really quite unfortunate that my Space Shuttle advisor always seemed to be the one to clean up after me when my impulsive actions came back to bite me in the aft at the most inopportune moment.

:_It's a bit too late for false reassurance, Nightfire._: I could only mumble once again, knowing that blunt admittance was a lot more beneficial than self-justification in the long run.

For several kliks, there was only silence from the other end of the line, during which I shot down an Autobot guard that had rounded the corner. Just as the deactivated ground pounder collapsed to the floor, an explosive shout erupted from my usually cool-helmed advisor.

:_What were you _thinking_, Star!_:

:_I—I just—…I didn't want to worry you, alright?_: I definitely did not whine, no matter how much it sounded like I did.

_Starscream—_: Nightfire made many unintelligible sounds as he tried to piece together a coherent sentence. :…_I-I'm sorry for raising my voice, your Highness, but-but—…What in the _pits_ were you—!_:

:_It wasn't my best moment, Nightfire,_: I grumbled. That was as close to an apology as I was going to get, especially since I did not quite regret my decision, as much as I knew I should.

:_Star—…_: Nightfire made a deep sigh with his vents. For a brief klik, he sounded so exasperated and so alike to Skyfire that I actually froze in my steps, joints tensing rigid. Nightfire continued to ask me why I had made such choice so impulsively, voice at a much more amiable volume than before with all the proper etiquette of a flier addressing his monarch. However, all I could concentrate on was forcing down the energon that had started to crawl up my throat from the churning of my fuel tank, nausea processor-stalling.

By Primus…What would Skyfire think if he knew of what I was doing? Of what the motivations behind my actions were?

This obsession I had for Megatron had degraded me to such extents that I could hardly recognize myself. I might as well label myself as the "whore Prince" from my behaviour over the past few cycles. Nightfire had every right to be horrified. Slag, I was horrified myself. I had thrown away all care toward my city and bargained the lives of all fliers for one ambitious ground pounder who wanted to see Cybertron burn. I had allowed my logic circuits to become so clouded so I would…by Primus…practically spread my thighs in a wanton display for a cheap, dirty frag.

My spark felt like it was shriveling into itself, and I wanted to curl into a ball. Shame stung, but it was too late to dwell on sentiments. I could no longer sever myself from the war. My pride would not allow it.

If Cybertron were to be renewed, I would have to do so on my terms.

On _my_ terms, and not on Megatron's.

:_—too late for a diplomatic approach, so what is your command, Sire?_: Nightfire's voice regained importance to my processors. He sounded weary, and I could not blame him, but at least he had calmed down from his panicked tirade.

:_The news of Vos's alliance with the Decepticon faction, as well as that of my whereabouts, must not reach civilian audials._: I slowly came back to myself, straightening in posture and perking up my wings. :_I will make necessary arrangements for a formal address to my fliers once the night cycle's events are over. Aside from that, wait for my instruction, and keep everything quiet._:

There were acute changes in the air around me. More Autobot guards were sneaking down the corridor just around the corner.

:_I have company that needs dealing with, Nightfire._: My laser cannons grew hot, charging to full. :_Do not contact me again until I return for Vos._: I cut our line, and raised my arms as the first guard came into view.

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><p><strong>Notes:<strong> Over the weekend, I'd come to the realization that editing the full chapter of XIII _and_ being able to update by this week just could not possibly happen at the same time, so I decided to cut the chapter in half. I'm not happy with such decision, nor am I happy with the below-par editing job I undoubtedly did. However, I much more prefer to not let the wait be any longer.

I'm hoping I'd learnt the lesson of not writing another chapter the length of approximately 40-50 pages with dense paragraphs after this monster, but most of "Insatiable" was written last summer, so I really can't be sure…D:

Thank you, to all my readers, for being patient with me. Especially big thanks for my kind reviewers: _Devlinn Reiko,lildevchick, Ashcola17, Koluno1989, MalevolentMask, Pandablubb, The Happy Shark, tiedwithribbons, The-writing-Mew, MegaScream-Love, trixxybaby95, Deathtomushrooms, Din Kelion, PwnKage, bantamm, aki. vn, Cloud Kitsune17, poinsonouswaffle'n-stuffs, Sneefee _and_ cerebral-mess_. Hearing from you always makes me smile. :)

The next chapter, as you can guess, will be the second segment of part XIII. That will be where all the fun and exciting things happen, so please stay tuned! I'm very sorry for the long wait. Hopefully, the next wait will be shorter.

Please leave me a few words. I'd love to know what you thought as you read this chapter.

Thank you once again!


	12. XIII, ii

Disclaimer: I…don't own Transformers…-cry-

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><p>XIII<p>

(ii)

A troublesome scuffle with the Autobots later, I sneered down at the deactivated bodies, and gave them a disgusted kick. This group was harder to take down than the previous ones I had encountered, resulting in one of my shoulder vents being singed by a grazing shot. Luckily, I had not attained any actual injury, but the fact that my perfection was compromised left a stain on my mood.

Shaking my helm, I gathered my thoughts, and returned to looking for my trine mates. It was likely that Thundercracker and Skywarp wore the same type of scrambler I had, which meant that hailing them by comm. was out of the question. I walked by each of the doors down the hall, and knocked on them, listening hard for any responding noise. Before long, I located the rooms with sounds of movement. Standing back, I shot the keypads, and walked into the first room on my left.

Upon entrance, I saw Skywarp restrained in the same manner as I was, except he also sported a gag and a blindfold. My purple trine mate probably thought me one of the Autobot guards, as he expressed his displeasure in great vigor by way of muffled yelling and violent struggling. Huffing through my vents, I made my way to him, and gave the back of his helm a smack once I was close enough.

"It's _me_, you idiot!" I hissed out through a grimace. Why would he believe me to be one of the Autobots anyways? No Autobot would blast through their own Primus-damned door.

I blamed it on Skywarp's stupidity, and decided to shrug it off.

"Now shut up and stop moving so I can take off the blindfold."

Thankfully, he grew still with a surprised, but happy noise. Satisfied that he was obeying my order, I pried the blindfold off, and began to hack the lock rendering my trine mate unable to speak.

"Thank Primus!" Skywarp exclaimed, sighing through his vents and working his jaw joints after I peeled off the gag. "I was starting to get real stiff with this thing in my mouth." He glowered at the gag as though it could feel his hatred, all the while making a face.

Hmm, how interesting.

One of my brow-ridges tilted upward as I studied my uncharacteristically frazzled trine mate. As far as I knew, nothing had ever made Skywarp as uncomfortable as that gag.

An idea popped up in my processors.

"…Perhaps I should bring it back to Vos just so I have something to effectively punish you with." I murmured, and when Skywarp snapped his helm up to gape at me with utter dismay, lips falling apart, I honestly entertained the idea. However, I quickly discarded it. I did not want anything made by the Autobots in my city.

"I'll think of you as even more of a sadistic little glitch if you do, Screamer…" Skywarp mumbled, faceplate pulling into a pitiful, pathetic pout, and what little amusement I had toward his behaviour dissipated in less than a klik.

"I can simply leave you tied up in the chair if you're so pit-bent on being ungrateful!" I sneered, and stopped my efforts at untying him, narrowing my optics.

"W-Wait! No! Please don't! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" To my great satisfaction, Skywarp immediately started to plead, begging me with his wide optics. "I'm totally grateful, honest! I'm just…a little piqued. That's all!"

"Piqued?" I echoed, vents making a curt huff. I was surprised he even knew such a word.

"Yeah…" My purple trine mate seemed to interpret my comment as a question. "…Those fraggin' Autobots…They thought it was funny to paw at me just 'cause I don't have clearance from the Senates like you do…"

Suddenly, the nature of Skywarp's restraints took an entirely different turn. I felt my optics widen, staring at him in utter disbelief. When he continued to look sulkily at his lap, trying to kick his peds in a futile attempt at breaking the cuffs, a wave of protective anger poured over my spark.

"You'll get to slag them later." I promised through gritted dentae, and renewed my efforts at freeing him.

"…I'm countin' on it, Star." His voice gained a sharp, deadly edge as he growled out, joints tightening and hands curling into fists.

When I finally managed to pull the restraints off, Skywarp leapt from the chair, and kicked it over with a vengeance. Reaching behind his neck, he ripped the scrambler off, cursing as it stung, and threw it to the floor before crushing it with a vicious stomp. He then proceeded to scrap the room, swearing loudly and making a huge mess. It was hardly the behaviour suitable for a member of the Royal Trine, not to mention it was downright silly to look at, but I allowed him to make a fool of himself to blow off some steam. After all, Primus knew what slag Skywarp had to put up with before his tormentors were called away as backup to the jailbreak.

"Where's TC?" My purple trine mate finally seemed to have finished with his bout of rage.

"In the next room," I jerked my helm toward the door, "Follow me."

"If those damned Autobot slaggers dared to touch TC, I'm gonna fraggin' eat their sparks." Skywarp muttered darkly, and I fought hard to not imagine such a thing as we made our way to free Thundercracker.

I hacked the door leading to Thundercracker's room, and darted aside to avoid being pushed over by Skywarp, who had rushed in the instant he was able to. Luckily for the Autobots, Thundercracker did not seem to be suffering any physical injuries aside from a few minor dents, and he had not been gagged and blindfolded, so there would be no spark eating in the near future.

"TC! Are you okay? Did the Autobots hurt you? The things I'm gonna do to 'em if they did…" Skywarp fretted over our blue trine mate, untying the bonds. Thundercracker seemed a little groggy, but he smiled reassuringly at Skywarp, and shook his helm. Skywarp continued to chatter, spurred on by relief. He knelt down by Thundercracker's peds to free his legs, so I chose to take off the scrambler from our blue trine mate's neck cables.

"How are you feeling?" I asked as Thundercracker stood up, a frown knitting my brow-ridges when I noticed him wavering a little. Skywarp was instantly by his side to steady him.

"I'm alright. Thank you," He offered another smile, and rubbed the back of his helm, wincing slightly. "The Autobot that caught me back in the arena hit pretty hard. I didn't regain consciousness until a few breems ago, so I'm still a little dizzy."

"Are you able to participate in battle?" I asked with a small frown. With Skywarp functioning at full capacity and abilities restored, it would only take a few kliks at most for him to take Thundercracker back to Vos's med bay. While I would definitely prefer to have my full trine with me in the first battle of our war, I was not about to have my trine mate risk fighting while confused and weakened.

"Oh yes," Thundercracker looked a little sheepish, "I won't be knocked down so easily." He straightened, and perked up his wings. "I'm not going to let you enter battle with an empty right wing, Star."

"That's my TC!" Skywarp patted our blue trine mate on the wingtip with a wide, proud grin on his faceplate. His optics glittered.

I only nodded in approval, and smiled before motioning them to follow me out into the hall.

The sound of mechs engaging in combat could be heard coming from all direction, but they were far away from our current location. I was not deluded into believing that we were safe, though. Looking left and right, I led my trine mates onward, only to find that I had no idea as to where our null rays could be. The most likely mech to know where the Autobots kept confiscated weapons was Soundwave. He was more important than I previously thought if his presence with the Senates at my hearing was any indication.

:_Soundwave, report._: I sent him a comm., which he replied to promptly.

:_Current location – Kaon security headquarters, prison facilities, sub-level two, section E, room one-dash-thirteen._: Soundwave's drone-like voice floated across our comm. line,:_Status –Decepticon, Vosian weaponry retrieval._:

My optics widened, a little surprised.

:_I thought I told you _I_ was going to retrieve my trine's null rays._: Despite being somewhat impressed with him, my voice carried only a slight sneer. :_I hope you've freed all prisoners like I'd ordered you to._:

:_Affirmative, Prince Starscream. Objective – completed._: He intoned. :_Soundwave apologizes for initiating action. Reason – Soundwave aware of location of confiscated weapons._:

Soundwave sure knew how to talk. My optics narrowed, and my lips pressed into a thin line. He did not suggest that I did not know the location of my null rays, nor did he give the indication that he knew better than I did from the way he constructed his sentence. He was only "aware". That was all.

:_Location of Decepticon and Vosian weaponry – inconvenient for Prince Starscream and Seekers Thundercracker and Skywarp._:

:_Of course._: I scoffed with a burst of air from my vents. He only did not want to inconvenience me. What a smooth talker. :_Where are you bringing my null rays?_:

:_Suggestion – convene on location, level three, storage chamber C-dash-three-eight._:

:_A _storage_ room?_:

My tone must have reflected exactly how I felt toward meeting in a measly storage room, for Soundwave immediately explained:

:_Storage Chamber – Dimensions appropriate for Decepticons and Vosian allies._:

:_Fine,_: I motioned my trine mates to follow me as I retraced the way in which I came, remembering about the elevator lift I had spotted while running around. :_You'd best not be late, Soundwave. Starscream, out._:

"Where're we going now?" Skywarp asked as we travelled, meeting no significant resistance along the way.

"We are going to a storage room on the third level to meet with the rest of your Decepticon comrades," I answered while we waited for the elevator lift to arrive. "Soundwave has already retrieved our null rays. He'll be returning them to us once we get there."

"Soundwave knows…a lot," Thundercracker glanced at me, faceplate in a small frown.

"My thought exactly," My lips curled, and my hands clenched into fists. "We should be careful with that one."

"Yeah, no kidding," Skywarp shuddered, "Not only is he creepy to begin with, the mech's a telepath too. No use lying to him about anything. I bet he'll know from the other side of the room!"

"…He's a _what_?" My wings twitched, and I gaped at Skywarp in shock, a gesture imitated by Thundercracker.

Skywarp shifted on his peds.

"You mean…you didn't know?" He asked, brow-ridges furrowed together.

"Of course we didn't!" I snapped, irritated that Skywarp had not deemed it fit to tell Thundercracker and I such an important detail until now. "When were you planning on telling us? Until he pries every single secret from our processors?"

"But…you guys were already talking to him when I arrived back in Iacon that one time," Skywarp whined, "Didn't he tell you when he introduced himself?"

"Why the slag would a telepath expose himself, Skywarp!" I hissed up at him and pointed at his faceplate, striding forward and standing so close that our cockpits almost touched. "The only reason I allowed you to stay in Kaon is so you can gather useful information. What good are you if you fail to mention that Megatron's employing a _telepath_?"

"I—I honestly thought you knew!" Skywarp stumbled back and rubbed the back of his helm, guilt apparent in his widened optics.

Heaving a frustrated sigh through my vents, I cursed and turned away. There was no point in berating an idiot. Besides, I should not have depended on Skywarp of all fliers as an informant in the first place. At least now I knew why Soundwave unnerved me to such a degree, and why he felt so invasive when he always kept a respectful distance.

The elevator lift arrived, and my trine and I boarded. This box was much larger than the one at the Autobot headquarters in Iacon, so riding in it was much more bearable. All throughout the ride, I could not stop thinking about the damned telepath, the offending snarl on my faceplate gaining in prominence. Now that I knew about Soundwave's abilities, a lot of things were starting to make a lot more sense.

The slagger had read my mind when we'd met for the first time on the outskirts of Iacon.

He had sifted through my processors, and had seen my deepest, guiltiest secrets.

He knew everything, all about the mech that had violated me when I was only a youngling, and all about Skyfire.

By the time my trine mates and I arrived at the third level, I was boiling with rage, ready to unleash the entirety of my wrath on the scrapheap who'd dared to transgress me in such a manner.

As soon as the elevator door opened, I marched out, strides swift and wide. I walked past several ground pounders, and made my way to the correct storage room. I was aware of the curious onlookers and my hurrying trine mates as they followed me, asking me what was wrong, but I paid them no mind. If not for Megatron, I would have executed the blue slagger with my bare fingers as soon as I arrived at my destination.

There he was, conversing with Megatron beside numerous big crates, visor dim and faceplate hidden behind his facemask. My optics narrowed to slits, target system zeroing in on the blue helm. I shouted at ground pounders to get out of my way, and pushed through the crowd, stomping toward the blue slagger. He paused in mid-speech, helm tilting in my direction. His visor flashed, and my anger surged even higher at the implication that he was using his telepathic abilities to assess my emotional state.

Megatron, noticing his subordinate's diverted attention, turned around.

"Starscream," He spoke with acknowledgement, hands loosely crossed behind his back. Incredulous aggravation instantly rose in my spark at his behaviour. How could he act so casually standing right next to a fragging _telepath_?

"You _knew_?" I walked right up to him and yelled, pointing at his nose-bridge. "You knew and never thought to _tell_ me?"

He barely flinched, looking at me, vaguely interested.

"This is the second time you've accused me of something without telling me what it is," He stated, tone dry and flat, optics indifferent.

"Well, why don't you ask your _telepath_!" I spat out, biting my dentae and glaring up at him.

"I don't see why I must notify you of everything about _my_ subordinates." Megatron looked a little annoyed at my finger-pointing, faceplate pulling into a scowl. "I don't have the time for this. There are more dire matters at hand. Stop your tantrums." He tried to brush me aside, and I bristled.

"_Tantrums_?" I shrieked, wings jerking violently on my back, "I am _not_ throwing a tantrum, you insolent rust bucket! You will treat me with respect and answer my question!" When he only sent me a displeased look and started to turn away, I almost shot him. "Don't you dare turn your back on me, Megatron!"

"This is not the time, Starscream!" He snarled and snapped his helm back toward me.

"How much do you know!" I ignored him, demanding an answer and swinging my hand to the side to point at Soundwave, "How much has he told you about me!"

"We will talk about this later!" Optics narrowed, Megatron nudged me aside with an arm, and walked away.

"We will talk about this _now_!" I shouted, steps firm and hurried as I followed after him. "How much has he told you about me for you to exploit, Megatron? How much have you commanded that he pry from my processors?" I was shaking so much that my voice wavered, paranoia fueling my fuming anger, "You have no right to use such knowledge for your own gains! To _manipulate_ me! How could you use it against me in such a manner! How could you-"

I was abruptly interrupted by a stack of cannons thrown at my faceplate.

Megatron tossed them at me without warning, and I spluttered, scrambling to catch them. It was only when they were safely clutched in my arms did I realize that they were, in fact, my trine's null rays.

"We have a _purpose_ this night cycle, Starscream." Megatron's optics glowed. "I will _not_ allow a temperamental prince-ling get in the way!" He spat out through bared dentae, and loomed over me, staring down with such a hard glare that I involuntarily hugged the null rays tighter against my cockpit, suddenly feeling extremely small.

"I don't know how you got it in your processors that I'd ordered Soundwave to delve into your thoughts, but at this moment, I have much more important things to worry about," He bit out, tone deceptively soft and hushed. "All you have informed me thus far is that there is, in fact, something worthy of manipulation about you, which I may or may not, like you said, exploit." He sneered nastily, baring his dentae in a snarl. "You will find no mech here who will treat you as royalty, Starscream. You will _earn_ my respect, not have it." He pinned me with a hard stare for a long moment, and curtly turned away.

All self-righteous anger left me like a deflating balloon. I simply stood on my spot, and gawked at Megatron's receding back as my processors tried to piece together just how a low caste ground pounder managed to order me to desist and succeed. My trine mates flanked my wings, and I felt Thundercracker give my right wing a tentative rub. I sulkily jerked my wing from his grasp, and tossed his null rays back to him.

"Don't say a word." I sent Skywarp a glare when I noticed him opening his mouth as I threw him his null rays. Surprisingly, he listened, and snapped his mouth shut, opting to attach his compact cannons onto his shoulders instead. I did the same, and felt a little better when my priced creations gave a whirling hum, activating to full charge.

Soundwave had begun taking weapons out of the big crates. He handed them out, along with a Decepticon badge, to all the escaped convicts that had gathered in the storage room. Megatron was picking out weapons himself, lifting heavy artillery launchers one after the other as he tried to find something to his liking. He heaved out a particularly ugly cannon, and tested its weight in his hands. To my horror, he appeared to be genuinely considering taking it.

"You can_not_ be serious," I made a face, and crossed my arms over my chassis. That cannon was bulky even for ground pounder standards, not to mention it had the most unfortunate and repulsive paintjob that made my tank churn.

Who the slag painted the thing bright green and neon orange?

Megatron only gave me a glance.

"It's a good cannon." He stated.

"It's _hideous_." I huffed, scrunching my nose-bridge, and sent it glares of distaste as though it offended my beautiful presence just for existing, which it did.

"I do not pick my weapons based on looks, Starscream." He might have been amused, but his voice was cool and unaffected. He did not even turn to look at me as he replied, actually attaching the repulsive thing onto his arm to test how it fit.

"You don't pick _anything_ based on looks – I can tell." I gave him an once-over, lips forming a downward arc. "All you're going to give your enemy is a laugh if you use that ridiculous thing."

"It's the only one here with enough firepower to suit my taste." He gave it a pat, and my plating downright prickled with a shudder

"What happened to your other one?" I tried to stalk closer without being too proximate just in case the paintjob could somehow rub off on me. "You didn't come in with this sad excuse of a weapon."

"Soundwave did not just retrieve the weapons we came in with. He hacked into the Autobot armory as well."

"You're going to use an _Autobot_ weapon to fight _our_ war?" My sneer grew even more pronounced. "Have you no class?"

He deadpanned me with a look.

"Actually, don't answer that." I cycled air through my intakes system, and stood up straighter. Pointing at the offensive thing, I declared with a loud voice: "I refuse to be seen in public with you if you wear that, Megatron. Even _you_ should be above scavenging from the enemy for a piece of scrap."

"A piece of scrap?" He straightened, and lifted one of his brow-ridges. "Perhaps you should give this piece a scrap a test." He flashed me a malicious smirk, and suddenly, the ugly cannon was aimed straight at my chassis. It gave a low whine as it activated, the bright light of a charging blast glaring into my optics.

My spark jolted in my spark chamber. My intakes hitched to a stop. Taking a startled step back, I quickly uncrossed my arms and held my hands in front of me in a defensive manner, lips falling apart from shock.

"Y-You can't be serious!" I tried to cry out, but only stuttered. The cannon continued to charge. The air began to warm. The blast grew more potent with power, sending waves of heat to my flight sensors.

"Megatron!" I called out in shock and fear, voice high and pinched. Thundercracker immediately moved to cover me as Skywarp grabbed for my left arm to pull me back, but Megatron seemed to have had enough fun with his little antics, and deactivated the cannon, lowering his arm.

"Not quite a piece of scrap, is it, Starscream." He spoke smoothly, and chuckled.

He actually _chuckled_.

Relief had not even reached my spark before humiliated fury overtook it. Oh the fragger was _definitely_ amused now. My hands lowered to my sides, clenching into fists. My optics became slitted, and I scowled up at him, wings trembling with infuriation.

He would dare laugh at the Crown Prince of Vos!

"Oh, it is still very much a piece of scrap, my dearest Megatron." I hissed out, voice biting and harsh, "Why don't _I_ show you what a _real_ cannon looks like?"

He hummed, and put up an appearance of disinterest. However, the slight flash of his optics told me he was at least curious, if not intrigued.

"Skywarp," I barked out an order: "Teleport me to my recharge chamber at once." Just as my trine mate gave me an affirmative and reached for my arm, I gifted Megatron with a grating, sarcastic smile, false sweetness dripping from the perfect curve of my lips. "I will be back in a breem with a cannon that will intimidate even _you_, mighty Megatron." I purred out, and flashed him once last arrogant smirk before Skywarp activated his teleportation system.

In a klik, we were back in my tower.

"You have a cannon in your recharge room?" Skywarp looked around, confused.

Paying him no mind, I walked to my data pad shelf, and entered the correct sequence to open my personal laboratory.

Skywarp, undoubtedly curious, quickly trotted after me. As the doors to my lab slid open, his intakes made a loud gasp of surprise. The sparking place of many of Vos's most dangerous weapons came into full view, and my trine mate gaped, greedily taking in the sight of the beautiful creations that I designed and completed myself. He murmured obscenities in shock and awe, and pride made my spark swell. Wings perked up high on my back, I hopped down the few steps of stairs. Skywarp followed me with much enthusiasm, and remained quiet until his gaze fell on the reason of our impromptu trip.

"…Holy slag, Star…" He exclaimed, freezing still on his thrusters with round optics and slack jaws, "…What the _frag_…!" With a trembling hand, he pointed at the most destructive weapon ever created, and looked like he was about to enter stasis lock from the sheer amazement he felt.

I stood next to my creation, grin so wide that my cheek plates almost hurt. I gave it a pat, and tilted up my chin. I felt like I was practically glowing from the wonderment blatantly displayed on Skywarp's faceplate.

"Wouldn't you say this is much better than Megatron's ugly excuse of weaponry, Skywarp?" I ran my fingertips along the barrel of my creation, voice coy. My wings gave a tiny flick, and that seemed to finally snap Skywarp out of his stupor of admiration.

"Holy slag, Star!" He rushed forward, shaking his helm as though he could not even begin to gather his thoughts. "You-You had this in your recharge chamber the _entire time_? What the frag! Why didn't you tell me?"

"And have you steal it for some stupid prank? I think not." I scoffed, carefully wrapping my arms around my prided work of art. "No flier can wield this due to its weight alone." I started to explain, spark giddy with excitement as the scientist in me wanted to blurt out every little detail about the research I put into this project. However, before I could begin, Skywarp let out a loud whoop of joy, and grabbed me with such thrilling anticipation that I was immediately reminded of a spastic sparkling.

"Then what are we waiting for? _Frag_, Star, Megatron's gonna kick some major aft with this beauty!" Without waiting for my affirmation, Skywarp activated his warping sequence. I was only allowed a moment to let out an undignified, startled yelp before I found myself dumped rather unceremoniously back into the storage room in Kaon. Without its supporting platform, the weapon was a dead weight. With a loud "thunk", my creation dropped to the floor, its large bulk almost crushing one of my peds.

Annoyance surged through my system. A scowl forming on my faceplate, I snapped up my helm, lips already parting yell at Skywarp for being an impatient little glitch. However, the words stuck in my vocalizer. Every pair of optics in the large room was fixated on the weapon I held in my arms, which was propped up from the floor.

The glossy, black paintjob of my prided work glistened even under the dim lighting system of the storage chamber. Not a single speckle of dust marred its beautiful sheen. By its size alone, it radiated strength and power, while its smooth and elegant lines spoke of precision of unprecedented caliber. It was the pinnacle of perfection, a single entity within which resided death itself.

The entire room was silent. Every mech was transfixed, gaping at my creation with wide optics full of desire. Many pairs of lips fell apart in a soundless utterance of awe, and my wings shivered, the rush of prideful bliss through my systems sweeter than even the most refined of energon.

I looked at Megatron.

There was no one worthy of my optics right then aside from my gladiator.

I looked at him, and I felt such pure, undistilled pleasure. He was studying my creation with such passionate fervor, one even entering a pit fight could not compare.

"…Now, Megatron," I tilted my helm, voice a flirtatious lilt, "I've watched your fights, and I always noticed you leading with your right. It got you into trouble when you—"

"-Starscream," He cut in with a growl, optics narrowing in warning, "Your _point_?"

Only slightly irritated, I sent him a mild glare, but any effect it might have had was significantly lessoned by the amused smirk I still wore.

"With _this_," I gave the barrel of my creation an affectionate stroke, "You can make that work _for_ you…" Firming my arms around my creation, I heaved it up from the floor with one, smooth sweep, and displayed it proudly to all mechs in the room.

"The _fusion cannon_," I announced, wings fanning wide on my back as I beamed at Megatron, "will make sure that a fair fight is the _other_ mech's problem."

Megatron's heated gaze glided over my cannon. They studied it for a moment, before rising to catch onto my optics. After several klik of silence, he took a step toward me. Slowly and steadily, he made his way closer, and his strides strong, quiet, leaving only a low, solid thud on the floor. He took off the ugly abomination of a weapon from his arm, and simply let it fall. It made a sharp clunk as it fell, but no one paid attention.

Megatron stopped. He stood over me, and lifted his hands, draping them over my own. My wings flicked, and my joints tensed. He held my fusion cannon, and, ever so carefully, transferred its weight into his arms. He took my creation with such ease, and, for a moment, I almost felt sentimental, reluctant.

"Hmm…_yes_." A wide smirk split open his faceplate, an expression horrible and bare. His optics flared in a burst of fiery light, and his voice rumbled inside his chassis, a deep, growly purr betraying the craze in his delight. "There's something about this…"

Suddenly, he moved. The fusion cannon was pushed onto his right arm, and his hand fisted as it clicked into place, synchronizing with his weapon system. The integration program ran its course, and immediately, the mouth of the barrel lit up with a low hum. Megatron's optics flashed in response. Their light burst outward, and created a cascade of sparks along their outer edges.

Through a snarled grin, he bared his dentae, and swung his right arm toward the far wall. His joints seized to full tension, not yet used to the massive cannon whose weight they now carried. He aimed, uncaring of the ground pounders hollering fearfully and scuttling away. His gaze hardened. His jaws set. He planted his peds firmly to the floor—

And he _fired_.

The lash-back was immediate. Even though the cannon had not been charged in full, Megatron was jolted backward, the shot blasting out of the barrel a flaming combustion of pure energy. It crushed into the far wall, punching straight through without any effort. The resounding boom washed across the room like a wave. It shook every mech down to their very cores.

My spark quivered with exhilaration. My intakes gasped in a full cycle of air.

Only Megatron could wield such a weapon.

Only he could wear it as an extension of his being.

After all…

I grinned.

It was _perfect_ for him.

Megatron remained in his slight crouch for a brief moment before slowly straightening, joints easing from their previous rigidity. He stood tall, regal, framed by the massive hole he had just made in the wall. The dim, hazy luminescence from the outside bathed his body in an almost ethereal glow, making him gleam as though engulfed in a thick coating of refined energon. Every angle of his frame appeared even sharper, as the shadows were darker. He looked out to the rest of Kaon, and the fusion cannon waited, silent by his side.

"Megatron, we await your command." A nameless grounder from behind blurted out, spurred on by the announcing strike of our war.

Megatron did not answer right away. He remained still, a monument of black against the flickering of a decaying city. He watched the smelting pit, where he had fought and killed to survive, where he had clawed to power by ripping into guts and spilling fresh energon to the ground. This was the one slaghole where everything would change, where we would take our first step in plunging Cybertron into chaos and flames. However, he only watched it. He watched it all, but I could not determine what expression he wore, not when he faced away from me, features hidden and position far.

His back was tall and imposing as always, shoulders broad and hard. However, as he stood, unyielding, determined, full of promise and purpose, I was left…behind, isolated, unable to understand just _why_ this ground pounder was so desperate to see Cybertron renewed.

What did the Autobots do to create such a beast? What had he seen down in the mines that made him this way, that changed a mere shadow in the labour force into the commander of a faction whose ideals he had built atop countless deactivated bodies with his bare hands?

He had no lineage. He was not sparked into power with privilege in his fuel lines. He had no idea what having lives of mechs under his fingertips really meant. He did not even seem to care how many sparks would be sacrificed as long as they extinguished for his goal.

And as he stood, glory and a new age waiting for him to be taken by the neck cables, to be conquered, to be forced to go the way he willed it, he looked…alone.

My spark hurt, and I did not understand what it meant.

He looked…alone.

My spark hurt, and I did not understand why I had not moved to stand beside him.

My fists, down by my sides, trembled. My brow-ridges knitted, and my lips pressed tightly together, their smile long ago fallen. My knee joints felt weak, and my wings were stiff on my back. With a sudden burst of incomprehensible impulse, my peds strode forward, and I made a change.

My thrusters made small clicks against the floor as I approached him. His helm tilted, slightly inclined in my direction, and my spark shivered in my spark chamber. He uttered no words. The chamber was silent. There was no need for speech, not when everything could be conveyed by action alone, and I suspected that he preferred it as such anyways.

My trine mates did not follow me. I could feel their optics on the backs of my wings.

With unhurried steps, I stopped to stand right beside him.

I stood by his side, and turned to gaze up at him only when he tilted his helm down toward me.

I did not know what he saw on my faceplate. I could not interpret the expression he had on his. The fusion cannon was still warm on his arm, and its barrel was smooth, just as I remembered, when I brushed lightly against it with my finger tips. His optics held an unreadable glow. His brow-ridges were furrowed so minutely that I had almost dismissed it as a mere play of light and shadows. Every cut and scratch on his faceplate was unattractive and obvious under the glimmer from the city below us, and yet they made my breath catch. They made my spark weak. His lips were slightly parted, the scar across them a cynical reminder of the price one paid for building an empire out of the pits. I remembered their coarse texture, hard and jagged, from the kiss I shared with Megatron…and my spark, my wavering spark, _faltered_…for the first time.

We watched each other, silent and unmoving. Our gazes touched, but that was all, our frames close but apart. I felt as though something had changed, something important, but I could not explain what it was, not yet. It was too vague, too fragile. Too unfeasible for the night marking the beginning of our war, and too abstract for logic to understand.

Megatron opened his lips, and a command to his Decepticons left them:

"Fall on them as predators do prey. Show no mercy."

My wings flicked simultaneously, and my trine mates reacted in an instance, walking forward into formation.

Megatron's optics held my own for a klik more before he turned toward Kaon, that unreadable look breaking and receding behind the lust for rage. With a swing of his left arm, he gestured at the city, the first for him to rule.

"Everything," He announced:

"All of this," his hand tightened into a hard fist—

"_Burns_."

A roar erupted from the mechs behind us, promising violence of the most primal kind as they readied for the night's feast of violence and energon. I walked toward the makeshift exit Megatron had blown into the wall, and my trine mates followed, our trine link syncing in full.

"Wake up, Cybertron," Megatron's deep, gravelly voice was the overture to our upcoming battle. "Your era is ending."

Our declaration spoken, I stepped over the edge, and leapt out into the night sky.

The air was hot with pollution. Foul chemicals swarmed my intakes in tinted fume. The currents were harsh as I dived, my trine mates jumping after me without any hesitation. There was hardly enough light to compliment my form and the shine my plating bore. Everything was uncomfortable, far from satisfactory.

However, I knew there was no better place to ignite the fire that would engulf the planet than Kaon. Starting with the deepest pit, we would work our way up. The Senates would cower in their headquarters, terrified sparks shriveling into tiny speckles, as they watch their cities crumble to nothing, their pretentious capital the last to be consumed.

Activating my transformation sequence, I slipped into jet mode in midair, and shot up into the sky. My frame pierced through the winds. They were mine to dominate, and my trine mates followed, matching my movements with practiced ease. Thundercracker's thrusters sent out a rippling sonic boom as I led us to top speed, swallowing Skywarp's gleeful cackling. My spark strummed. My fuel pump raced. We sliced through the air in perfect formation, and, had I been in base mode, I would have grinned.

Time to show these miserable ground pounders why Seekers were worshipped in legends of the Old Age.

A transport hovercraft was floating in front of us. As soon as my optics lay upon it, I knew: this was how we would capture every spark in Kaon, with a spectacle that would forever be remembered as the first fire of our war. I swerved to the left, an action so sudden and swift that any lesser Seeker would have cried out in surprise. However, Skywarp was not just a Seeker – he was my left wing. He teleported in a split of a klik, and my form cut through purple smoke, veering toward my target. Thundercracker immediately rose in altitude as I dropped, recognizing my intention.

I flipped over, the underside of my jet mode angled toward the belly of the hovercraft. My null rays whirred. I fired. My shots pierced through the plating of the hovercraft, and I heard echoing null ray blasts from the top as my blue trine mate attacked from above.

I neared the head of the hovercraft, and righted myself, nosecone pointing up. Thundercracker was already high in altitude, far away from the explosion kliks from discharging altogether. Flames raged over the form of the hovercraft, their blistering heat an unbearable burn across my wingspan. A sudden roar of combusting engine parts shot through the air like a tidal wave. It struck me, and my wings wavered.

I needed to get out of range before the flames overcame me too.

Faster. I flew, engines screeching as I pushed their limits. The next instant, the hovercraft exploded. Its entirety tore apart, and splintered into molten fire that smelted its metal and gorged on its parts. A hurricane of burning hot air, the first wave, slammed into my frame. It almost peeled my paint right from my plating, and I cursed, fighting to keep control over my flight path.

_Where the slag was—_

Skywarp, in base mode, on top. He grappled onto my wings, and, with a pop, the heat and the processor-stalling stench of melting metal immediately disappeared. Reemerging in Kaon airspace, I spotted Thundercracker coming toward us. Skywarp let go, and I righted myself with a wide loop.

The hovercraft fell from the sky behind us, a beacon for the new age to come. The message was clear: annihilation for all who oppose the inevitable fate that awaits Cybertron and its inhabitants.

My trine returned to standard formation. We sliced through the now brightened night sky, and hunted for our next victims.

More hovercrafts came into view. They were passenger crafts this time, one close and one in the distance. However, before I could decide how to split the fun, another target caught my optics: a Kaon Autobot security vehicle racing through the streets below.

Oh, lovely. Enough for all three of us.

:_Thundercracker, Skywarp, bring down the passenger crafts,_: I ordered, spark reeling in bloodlust and anticipation. :I_ have an appointment with the Autobots._: Without waiting for a reply, I dived down, a high-pitched shriek accompanying my arrival.

:_You heard him!_: Skywarp's animated voice made a loud whoop over our trine comm. line. He led the way, surging toward the passenger craft by my command.

:_I…I'm thinking that—_: Thundercracker sounded hesitant, but Skywarp cut in:

:_Don't think!_: He pushed aside Thundercracker's words, infectious excitement trickling over our trine bond. :_Just do it!_: His maniacal cackle abruptly cut to static as the cacophony of an exploding hovercraft blasted into my audials.

I was so distracted by the multi-coloured fireworks that I almost forgot about my own objective. Proximity warnings blared in my processors, and I instantly pulled up my nosecone, thrusters giving me a new spurt of speed. I shot past the Autobot vehicle, its surrounding grounders hollering and flinging themselves down when I flew right over their helms. With a narrow, vertical loop, I circled back, and warmed my null rays in preparation of entertainment.

More Autobots came out of the vehicle. They shot at me with their blasters, shouting instructions at each other. I veered sharply to the side, and fired a single, precise shot with my compact cannons. The security vehicle exploded, and the Autobots erupted into an uproar of curses as flying debris sliced across their chassis and lodged into their joints.

Laughing, I swerved back, and shot them down.

Optics flickered to darkness. Energon dribbled out of their gaping mouths. One of them refused to die, frame convulsing as he tried to hack out the energon clogging his intakes system. How miserably he clung to life, body in spasms as energon gushed past his lips. His vocalizer could no longer emit screams of agony, the only sound coming from him being the gurgling of liquid.

I flew around, and transformed in the air. Landing several steps in front of him, I watched the struggling mech, hips tilting languidly and faceplate wearing a smirk. He let out another gurgle, and reached for me with his hands. I did not know what he wanted, or what he was trying to do, but that did not matter. My hips swayed. My thruster heels left light taps against the ground. I walked to stand just out of the reach of his fingertips, and aimed my null rays.

One shot in the helm, and his processor parts scattered, skidding away on the dirty street in wet trails. Energon pooled under his body, which jerked, his last few strands of thought on top of system failure contractions. The energon spread, a glowing stain bleeding into puddles of grime and filth. I took a step back, only when it inched toward my peds.

His spark still refused to give out, if his twitching fingers were any indication. Cybertronians did not truly die until their sparks faded away. What a hindrance, I scoffed, lips curling into a sneer. My optics narrowed, and my thrusters boosted me into a hover above him.

"Our encounter would've been so much more pleasant for the both of us if you would simply let me kill you, Autobot." Voice snide, I quirked my helm to the side, and felt my smirk widen. "But since you insist on suffering, I will abide to your wish. After all, who am I to deny one so tenacious the bliss of suffering injury from my null rays?" As a last parting gift, I shot him in every limb. They separated from his body, and I laughed, spark swelling in heightened delight as energon spurted out of his severed fuel lines.

I was so engrossed in playing with the dying ground pounder that I did not notice another sneaking up behind me. The general noise and chaotic air currents shielded his approach, hiding him from my detection until he lunged toward me. I instantly turned, but it was too late. With a roar, he tackled me by the legs, and sent both of us tumbling down onto the filthy ground.

Pain shot through my neural lines as I landed on my back, wings scraping against the rough, jagged surface of the street. Gritting my dentae and hissing out obscenities, I struggled, yanking at my captured limbs. From the jolt of our landing, his grip around my legs had loosened, and I was able to pull one of my legs from his arms. Aiming a kick at his helm, I shrieked at him to get off. However, to my annoyance, he wore a protective shield over his faceplate, which made kicking him unconscious difficult. He dodged, and grabbed the ankle of my freed ped.

"Let go, you rusting piece of scrap!" I tried to shoot him with my null rays, but it was hard to hit anywhere vital from our position. I left several scorch marks on him, but that hardly discouraged him. He snarled and spat back furious expletives, shouting at me about something or another that I did not give two slag about.

"-kill you! I'll kill you!" His optics flashed as he screamed at me, baring his dentae like a species of rabid, non-sentient organics Skyfire and I had encountered on one of the planets we had visited. "I'll rip you apart!" To my shock, coolant was streaming down his faceplate, and, somehow, I knew he was not crying from his injuries.

Feeling unnerved, I shot him in the shoulder. My null ray gave him a nice, round hole, and he screamed in murderous rage. His hands around my peds suddenly tightened, ripping a cry from my vocalizer as my plating started to give under the pressure. "What the frag are you doing!" I shrieked back, punching at his helm as he pulled me closer toward him. "You're going to crush my thrusters!"

"I'll kill you!" He continued to shout, coolant bright and glistening on his cheek plates from the light of the flames around us. His fingers dug deeper, and I screeched, pain erupting over my sensor net.

He was going to crush my peds!

"I'll kill you! I'll kill you!" His mouth was a gaping hole, his voice becoming louder and more strained each time he repeated his threat.

"…You're glitched!" I became desperate. He was getting closer and closer, crawling up my body.

How could I have been so careless? How could I have allowed this to happen?

No matter.

My optics narrowed, and I slammed down the panic with a scowl.

I was not about to let a glitched ground pounder get the better of me.

Activating my thrusters to full blast, I shot up in the air, wincing as my hip joints protested with a vengeance at having to carry the entire weight of the grounder still clinging to me. We flew past the tops of the buildings. He was still trying to grab for more of me, but his hands were already losing their grip, the heat of my thrusters melting his paintjob.

He lifted his helm to look up at me, and, for a moment, that was all he did.

An opening.

"I just remembered," I spoke over the sound of gunfire and distant explosions, lips curling into a parody of a grin, "You can't fly." I tore one of my peds from his hands, and stomped down on his faceplate with all the force I could muster.

My thruster heel hurt as it struck the hard metal of the grounder's helm, but he must have hurt more. With a sharp holler of pain, his grip loosened further, and I shook him off with a kick on the mouth. Energon spurted. It coated his faceplate. He fell, arms grappling wildly for anything to hold onto. He was flailing stupidly, so I laughed.

He hit the ground. The sound of his crash was lost amongst general chaos. I transformed back into jet mode, and rejoined my trine mates in the sky.

Below us, Kaon was a symphony of flames. Megatron and his Decepticons were tearing the city apart. It had truly become a smelting pit, and I was, for a while, captivated by its utter brilliance, its beauty. In the distance, buildings were brought down one after the other, and I knew right away that that was where Megatron was, the fusion cannon being the only weapon in existence capable of uprooting architecture of that size. Destruction lay right under our wings. The heat was strong enough to pinch at my flight sensors, and it felt good. It felt very good.

I led my trine to a much lower altitude, gunning down ground pounders as we competed for the most number of kills. Thundercracker was losing. I was in the lead. Skywarp was a close second, but he was not about to let that go without a fight. No warning given, he popped right in front of my nosecone, causing me to swerve at such a sharp angle that I was hurtling right into a building. I rolled several times in the air, yanking back my frame. My right wing almost clipped one of the protruding window ledges, and I cursed, a stream of words royalty definitely should not know.

:_What the frag are you doing!_: I sent him an infuriated comm. when I finally righted myself.

:_Stealing your kill._: He snickered, voice smug, and shot down the group of running ground pounders I had been targeting, which put him in temporary lead.

"Frag you to the pits, you glitch-spawn!" I sent him an outward screech, "That was cheating!"

There was something infinitely satisfying about stretching one's vocalizer capacity to shout at certain idiots. When Skywarp's wings wobbled while he hissed and cursed, my spark swelled in great elation. _That_ would teach the slagger to not frag with me again.

:_No one said I couldn't teleport!_: He protested, and I growled.

:_No one said you could throw me into a building with your stupidity either!_: I snapped back. However, before our argument could develop further, movement caught my optics. There was another group of ground pounders, and they were trying to escape by keeping to the shadows. They scurried with their frames half bent over, too afraid to even lift their helms to check their surroundings. I felt a smile in my spark. This would set me back to first – my rightful place.

I veered off, charging my null rays to full deactivation mode. In my peripheral, I spotted Skywarp following my flight path, tilting vertical in the air. Irritation burst forth. I flipped back, and sent two warning shots toward him. They barely grazed his wings, and yet he yelped like a spooked sparkling, turning tail and dropping in altitude.

:_What was _that_ for!_: He whined, petulant and defiant. However, I only huffed, and allowed him to fly back to Thundercracker, to whom he touched wing tips with in hopes of comfort. Skywarp might be an idiot, but even he knew when not to push. He stayed lower in the air, a clear expression of submission to me, his trine leader, and I was appeased, circling back for those grounders I had located earlier.

Thundercracker murmured in soothing words, but most of what he said was much too quiet for me to catch over the screech of my engines.

The ground pounders all startled from the sound of my arrival. They looked up at the sky, helms jerking in all direction as they tried to find me. One of them did, letting out a thin wail with a shaky hand raised and pointed in my direction. They all turned, optics wide and expressions darkening with alarm and fear. Even over the caked soot over their faceplates, I could see them – the wrinkles in their derma from the gaping of their mouths.

They ran, crying out in terror. I laughed, its texture shrill with hilarity. The grounders had every right to be afraid, slow on their peds while death travelled at three times the speed of sound. They had given up trying to hide in the shadows, since it obviously did not help them. They raced down the dirty, smelted streets, leaping into their alt modes in hopes to increase their chances of survival. That did not matter. They were no match for my speed. Even if they burned their tires off, they could not outrun me, not when their predator was a Seeker intent on terminating their sparks.

I caught up to them with ease, and readied my null rays, aiming at the slowest of the party. With one shot, I hit him on the hood, and he lost control right away, crashing into a building on the side of the road. I fired again, striking down the grounder second from the front. He squealed in alarm as he lost control, and switched back to base mode, rolling down the street and causing the rest of his group to transform to avoid a nasty pile up.

With widened, frightened optics, they looked up, following my form as I flew past them and circled back. Their faceplates were smudged with dirt and fear, some sporting tracks of coolant, and my spark thrilled, thumping in giddiness. I readied my null rays, and prepared to blast them all to deactivation. There was no way I was going to let Skywarp win, not when he would cheat in attempts to best me. However, before I could shoot, a sudden, loud shriek of my designation startled me so much that I instantly flipped off course.

"Starscream!" I had never heard Thundercracker shout like that before. "Stop!" The volume was shocking, and I cursed, heaving my nosecone up.

"_What_!" I snapped back, making a wide loop around to return to my targets before they could run away, but Thundercracker had other ideas.

"No, Star, don't!" He cried out again, and I was so perplexed by what he was doing that I actually passed the group of grounders without firing a single shot.

"What _is _it!" Annoyance quickly replaced my confusion. "Have you glitched your processors?"

Thundercracker was making a beeline toward me at top speed, the low rumbling of his thrusters making the glass of my cockpit tremble. Skywarp followed at a much more leisurely pace, appearing to be just as confused as I was.

"What slag are you going on about?" I asked peevishly, firing a warning shot when one of the grounders tried to sneak away from his huddled group.

"Please, Star!" Thundercracker came closer. He transformed back to base mode, and hovered in the air, optics following my form as I flew circles. "Please, they're _civilians_!"

:_So?_: Skywarp snorted.:_We blasted those passenger crafts and they were full of civilians._: He glided toward us, apparently too lazy to argue about something so trivial with his vocalizer.

"_You_ blasted them, Skywarp." Thundercracker's voice shook, and his wings shivered on his back.

:_Who _cares_?_: Skywarp sent halfhearted blasts at the first grounder I had shot off the road, who was crawling toward his severed limbs down the street. :_They're just grounders._:

"Skywarp!" Thundercracker's optics flashed, horrified, and his clenched fists trembled down by his sides.

"Skywarp's right," I added, still keeping a close watch on my group of targets, "Don't tell me you've suddenly found some ill-placed sympathy toward these pit dwellers."

"I-I haven't. I haven't!" Thundercracker's brow-ridges furrowed, faceplate morphing into a grimace as he stared down at the huddled pile of terrified ground pounders. "B—But Star…They…They have a _youngling_…!"

Taken back by the news, I immediately dropped in altitude, and flew closer to my little grounder group. Now that I knew what to look for, I realized that Thundercracker was right. Clutching onto one of the ground pounders was a youngling, hiding in the burly arms of his creator. His faceplate was stained by mud and coolant tears, blue optics stretched wide and bright with spark-deep fear.

"_Please_, Star, at least let the youngling go," Thundercracker begged, wings shivering still.

"Go _where_, Thundercracker?" I felt like sneering.

"Out of Kaon," My blue trine mate hastily answered, giving me imploring looks as he tailed me with his optics. "Skywarp—Skywarp can teleport him out of here. Just the youngling, Star. Just the youngling."

"Hey! I'm not some youngling-sitter!" Skywarp protested, pausing in his bored toying with the grounder he had found. The grounder now had none of his limbs attached, and he was crying, making a pitiful mess. My purple trine mate hovered over him in base mode, null rays pointed at his helm. "I'm not gonna pass up a chance to slag Autobots just to save some runt!" Skywarp punctuated his words with a jerk of his arm, and the limbless grounder squealed, sobs convulsing down his torso.

"For Primus's sakes, 'Warp!" Thundercracker's expression crumbled, a pained look I did not understand surfacing in his optics as he held out his hands in plea, "These are not Autobots! They're innocent civilians!"

"No, TC," Skywarp finally found some small sliver of mercy in his spark, and shot the limbless grounder in the chassis. "They're just casualties of war."

Skywarp was right. These grounders would all eventually deactivate along the way. They were not strong enough to survive in the world Megatron had envisioned. They were going to be casualties in the future anyways. The Autobots certainly did not give slag about them, so I could care even less.

Making one last loop, I charged my null rays, and shot down the huddled group of ground pounders. Their chorus of agonized wailing and despaired screams drowned out Thundercracker's cry of dismay. By the time I flew past them, they were all dead. "I win, Skywarp." I announced, pleasure lilting the purr of my voice.

"Wait, what?" Skywarp immediately perked up, gaping at me with lips hanging open. "…Hey! That's not fair! Who gave _you_ the right to say when the game ends!" He pouted, flying closer.

"_I_ gave me the rights, Skywarp, as the Crown Prince of Vos." I transformed back into base mode, and crossed my arms over my chassis, smirking down at my purple trine mate in obvious superiority.

"…That's _so_ unfair…" Skywarp sent me a glare, and grumbled, "I was _so_ close to winning too!"

Before I could reply, Thundercracker interrupted our playful banter.

"…How could you…call this a _game_…!" His voice shook, as did his fists. "A _youngling_ just _died_, and yet you—you-…" He abruptly cut off, helm jerking downward to hide his faceplate.

"Hey c'mon, TC. Don't let us take _all_ the credit," Skywarp laughed, and floated closer to give Thundercracker a lighthearted pat on a wing. "You watched."

Thundercracker froze, and, for a moment, he was so still that I was afraid he was going to fall right out of the sky.

While I did not understand what Thundercracker's problem was, I was mildly surprised by Skywarp's bluntness. I would almost say he was insightful, except I could not decide whether that was just a fluke or not. Either way, he hit Thundercracker right in the spark. My Right Wing suffered, silent and suspended over the rage spreading across Kaon.

I would have been more concerned over how my blue trine mate was holding up, stunned by Skywarp's revelation. However, an exceptional explosion snatched my attention away. It was in the general direction of where I knew Megatron was, and my breath instantly caught upon realization that the blast did not come from the fusion cannon.

"…What _was_ that?" Skywarp's voice was softer than before, optics wide as another explosion shook the city, flames bursting so high that it streaked up the sky.

"I don't know," I whispered, much more worried than I expected myself to be. "Follow me in standard formation. Megatron might need our help."

"Megatron?" Skywarp asked, but I had already transformed and taken off. He followed a few kliks later, a silent Thundercracker in tow.

The closer we got to the location of the explosions, the worse the carnage. A few Autobots spotted us, and fired at us with their blasters despite the fact that we were far outside the range of their measly weapons. Buildings had fallen over. I could see many crushed bodies under them, partly obscured. Energon stained the streets, coating them with a fine layer of glowing purple even as the puddles slowly drained into the sewage system.

Another explosion. The ground shook. The very air under my wings trembled. Skywarp made a sound of surprise, but aside from that, he remained completely silent. Usually, I would have found it remarkable that he did not utter some colourful words. However, I knew the exact reason for his uncharacteristic behaviour.

Below us, at visible distance, there was a monstrously large ground pounder. He was so much bigger than even Megatron, standing at twice as tall, bulkier than anyone I had ever seen. The amount of weaponry attached to his frame was downright ridiculous. I could see at least a dozen barrels emitting smoke, and a dozen more firing at the mechs running away from him.

We flew overhead. My spark chamber misted with ice when I recognized the massive ground pounder to be Sentinel Prime. He was blasting down battle-worn Decepticons as though they were mere toys, and right in the middle of that chaos was Megatron, standing firm on his peds while all of his subordinates fled. He was saying something, and I instinctually knew it was important. However, I could not hear him, the howling of the wind sweeping atop the sound of battle.

I led my trine to a higher altitude, making a wide loop. Our weapons could not damage Sentinel, not as he was, and I was in no way keen on testing how far the Prime's cannons could reach. I took my trine to a safe distance, and decided to simply stay out of the way. It was not what I wanted to do, but it was tactically sound. Just as I returned my attention to the happenings below us, Sentinel fired.

Megatron was completely swallowed by the blinding blast.

My intakes hitched. My wings wavered. Everything happened too quickly for my processors to register the events. The bright light of the cannon discharge faded away, and all that was left of Megatron was—

…Nothing.

My thrusters almost stalled. Uncaring of the consequences, I broke out of formation with an abrupt dive, and flew closer, searching the spot Megatron had been only kliks before. As powerful as Sentinel's weapons were, it was not possible for there to have been _nothing _left of him, _nothing_ left of my gladiator. Megatron was agile for his size and bulk. Surely he could have jumped out of the way. Surely he could have escaped. Surely he was not so stupid as to think that he was immune to the blast of a cannon.

Suddenly, I saw him.

Megatron leapt out from overtop, and threw down the deactivated body of an Autobot. The Prime was visibly startled, jolting as my ground pounder landed right on top of him, snarling and dentae bared. They became entangled in a violent brawl, fingers grappling for wounds to tear. This was unlike anything I had ever seen before, as not even pit fights could compare to how viciously Megatron dealt punches and ripped out sparking parts.

They parted for a brief moment, each pair of optics bright and glaring. Megatron scowled through the energon streaming down his faceplate, and spat out gnarled words before charging at Sentinel once again, a roar loud enough to reach my audials even so high up in the sky. They fought with their fists, intentions most brutal, neither using their weapons. They were two equal forces slamming head on, fighting as gladiators, neither willing to back down.

Megatron was more damaged than Sentinel, but his optics were brighter. His punches were backed by the relentless madness that made him worthy as the commander of this fire pit, merciless and untamed. Splatters of energon stained his frame, giving his plating a most eerie glisten under the surrounding flames. He ripped apart Sentinel's armour with his bare hands, and threw back his joint fists over his helm in preparation to crush Sentinel with a hard blow.

However, Sentinel was not so easily defeated, fist flying through the air. Megatron was hit, and he was falling, balance skewed. I was so captivated by what they were doing that I had failed to notice the structure on which they fought. It was a road that was connected to a bridge, which had been blown to pieces, leaving only a cliff hanging over the lower sector of the city.

Megatron was hit, and he was falling over the cliff.

My spark froze to ice. It squeezed so painfully with frantic horror that I could only hitch in a thin gasp, overwhelmed by panic. Without a single thought, I dived down after Megatron, slicing open the air with my wings. I shot after him at over three times the speed of sound, thrusters almost spluttering to deactivation by how much I pushed my systems to catch my mech before he fell to his death.

Just before I could recklessly fly past Sentinel Prime, who would undoubtedly shoot me down, Megatron flung out an arm, and grasped onto a piece of metal jutting out of the rough terrain with his hand. Relief struck me straight in the chassis, and I thought I could have dropped from the sky. Veering off with a sharp flip before Sentinel could notice me, I hung back, and resumed my role as a spectator. The Prime now had Megatron by the neck, lifting him in the air. I did not know why he had done such a thing, saving his opponent, but it gave Megatron just enough time to counterattack.

Movement quick to a blur, he grabbed onto the Prime with enough force to dent armour. To my sheer incredulous shock, he pulled Sentinel forward, and his only chance of avoiding a deadly fall toppled over the cliff with him.

"That's right, Prime." I heard him grit out, the timber of his voice unique and deafening over the shrieking noise. "We are everything you said…" His optics bled like exploding suns. "-_And worse_!" He roared out, flipping their positions as they plummeted down and disappeared from my sight.

Once again startled, I flew toward them. The heavy impact of two ground pounders smashing against hard ground left my spark quivering in my spark chamber. I heard my trine mates tail after me as I made my way to Megatron, hoping the crash only deactivated the Prime. Many Decepticons had gathered around as well, peering over the cliff to see what had happened.

From the way they gaped, I could only assume that Megatron had not died, since none of his subordinates seemed particularly affected. But then again, one could never be too sure with these bottom feeders. I approached the cliff that my mech and Sentinel fell off from, and swiftly transformed to slow my speed. My spark felt as thought it could jump out of my chassis as I hoped, desperately, that Megatron was alright.

A figure was standing in the huge crater that had formed from the fall. For the second time that joor, sweet relief washed over me, calming down my erratic spark. Megatron was the one standing. He definitely had never looked worse in all the time I had known him, but he was alive, and well enough to support his weight on his peds. I could tell he was watching the Prime from the way his helm was tilted, but I could not see his expression from my angle. I heard his voice, low and more scratched than usual, uttering Sentinel's elegy.

Sentinel's lips moved, and energon dribbled out of them. He appeared to be replying to whatever Megatron had said, but it was too quiet and insignificant for me to catch even snippets of. As I neared the group, which had gathered to witness the death of a Prime, I heard my ground pounder, the commander of an army he had built atop deaths and the smelting pits, give his answer:

"I don't think so, Sentinel Prime," He spoke evenly, every word clearly pronounced and firm. "It will matter," He lifted one of his fists, and loomed over Sentinel's broken body, "when they see what I have done to _you_."

I landed just as his fist fell. He punched straight through Sentinel's armored plating, aiming for the spark chamber. The Prime gave a gurgling cry, energon splattering out of his throat through his gaping mouth. There was a sickening crunch from within Sentinel's chassis, and when Megatron yanked out his fist, it was glowing with energon. He held something in his clenched fingers, which he tossed away to the side. It bounced, and I did not recognize what it was until it stopped skidding.

I cringed, feeling a sympathetic ache from behind my cockpit glass.

Megatron had ripped out the cover panels of Sentinel's spark chamber.

He was prying open the Prime's chassis now, exposing the very soul of his victim. He yanked at vital internal components, the task difficult as the parts were made wet and slick by the pooling energon. There were squelching noises, and cables snapped, flicking splatters of blood onto his faceplate. Bit by bit, Megatron gutted him. I did not know how much awareness Sentinel had left, but from the way he soundlessly screamed, optics flashing in spastic intervals, I knew he could feel them – every painful tug that Megatron made.

The sight was horrifying. I became utterly enthralled, fascination prompting me to float down from my perch and land right beside the crater for a better look. Megatron did not acknowledge me, absorbed as he was with his morbid endeavor. He leaned back only when the Prime's spark was completely exposed. The bright, blue orb, sizzling and dimming, cast a cold sheen of light over his battered features.

There was an odd object inside Sentinel's spark chamber. It was clear, transparent…slightly tinted. It encased the Prime's spark, and had two looped protrusions on its sides. There was writing carved into its frame, complicated symbols in smooth strokes so great in number that they made Seeker cant seem like a language for sparklings. It seemed to be fading in and out of solidity, and it took me a few moments to realize that it was responding to the condition of Sentinel's spark.

That could only mean one thing.

"That's…the Matrix of Leadership." I whispered, optics wide and intakes gasping. Megatron did not appear to have heard me, studying the Matrix as closely as I was recording its minutest details. The Prime's system was failing. His spark was making its last struggles to cling onto life. Before it could die on its own, Megatron reached into its housing, and wrapped his hand around the orb.

He cradled it for a klik, almost gentle in his handling. Movement most tender, he closed his fingers, their tips reaching for each other. The spark began to shiver, as if it knew of its fate and was trying to escape. However, it could not escape, could not leave the ruined spark chamber no matter how hard it tried.

Megatron held Sentinel Prime's spark in his hand, and, in a swift motion, he clenched. There was the nasty, hissing sound of hard, dirty metal being scorched and blistered, and steam rose, though Megatron barely flinched. With one last squeeze, the sound vanished altogether. The fingers parted, and all that was left of Sentinel were burn marks that covered the palm of his murderer.

The Matrix had faded away completely, and I wondered if another Prime had just been appointed at the same time. No matter. Sentinel was dead. Our war had begun. Our first battle was won. Kaon was engulfed in flames. It was crumbling to cinder even as we stood, watching the Prime's empty spark chamber. Kaon was Megatron's. He was now the ruler of the deepest pit on Cybertron with an army composed of the most despicable mechs ever sparked. The commander of his faction now held a city, much like me and mine.

The Decepticons behind us erupted into celebration of victory. In one night cycle, they had gone from rowdy criminals to soldiers of an army. I turned around, looking at the ground pounders cheering and patting each other on the shoulders. Many of them had whole sections of plating missing, faceplates covered with energon while their injuries still leaked. Some even held their own limbs. Regardless, they joined in on the festivity, the critical state their bodies temporarily forgotten in heat of the moment.

Soundwave, perhaps the cleanest grounder in all of Kaon, stood stoically with his drones around him. He was completely silent and still, observing the proceedings behind a cold, bright visor. The insufferable, rude twins were right by his peds, jumping and waving their small fists in the air. They were filthier than all of Soundwave combined, small frames riddled with wounds still seeping various system fluids.

Skywarp was not far behind them, talking to burly, dirty ground pounders and grinning so wide that I wondered if his helm was going to be split in half. My purple trine mate laughed, wings flicking, and he did not even seem to notice one of the grounders rubbing him on the wing joints. Thundercracker was the only one unaffected by the joyful mood, gaze downcast and expression a dark, brewing storm. He looked extremely out of place and uncomfortable, shifting on his thrusters and scooting away when ground pounders came too close.

He really should have just taken to the sky if he did not want to stand amongst a bunch of happy mechs.

Scanning the crowd, I suddenly felt optics watching me. Following the prickling sensations along my sensors, I turned, and caught sight of Megatron. He had stood up from his half crouched position over the Prime, and he looked strangely serene, coated in drying energon and various other fluids. His stance was strong, as though the considerable damage he suffered did not bother him in the slightest. He watched me, optics a simmering burn, and I wondered what he might have wanted to say.

"Your plan worked," I addressed him first, placing my hands on my hips and giving him a small smirk. "Congratulations."

He hummed, the sound almost inaudible, but otherwise gave no response.

I frowned.

"Are you…dissatisfied?" I asked, unable to understand his strange behaviour.

"No," He answered, voice soft, "I simply feel that something is amiss."

"What are you talking about?" I pressed onward, "You've already done everything you wanted." I gestured at the still cheering crowd, the still burning city, and waited with little patience for him to assuage my confusion.

He did not reply right away. He simply kept silent, expression turning inward while he thought. Suddenly, his optics gave a bright flash, and a smirk began to spread on his faceplate, cracking the dried energon into flakes.

"No, Starscream," His focus returned to me, and my wings flicked in anticipation. "Not everything. Not yet."

I quirked up a brow-ridge, and tried not to look as interested as I felt.

"I have an idea." He spoke in a low rumble, optics in a captivating shimmer. "We should give the Autobots a present for playing their parts so well, don't you agree?"

I could not stop myself – a grin instantly stretched over my lips in response.

I grinned, because I knew, without a doubt, that this idea was going to be a good one.

A _really_ good one.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes:<strong> The aforementioned "really good idea" can be found at the end of "Megatron: Origin".

Phew! Goodness, I didn't think I could ever finish editing this chapter. So here you have it: the war has finally begun! I have a nice little treat for you coming up next chapter in celebration, and I have a feeling at least some of you can guess just what it is. ;))

Many big thanks, again, to _Confuzzled-Neko, Deathtomushrooms, Ashcola17, cerebral-mess, PwnKage, The Happy Shark, ladyredvelvet, Koluno1986, MalevolentMask, lildevchick, bantam, Devlinn Reiko, Cloud Kitsune17, 6MissSparklez9, Random523, The-writing-Mew, poisonouswaffle'n-stuffs, MegaScream-Love, Pandablubb, _and_ Cjade_ for your wonderful reviews! They encourage me more than anything, so thank you, truly!

I'd usually talk a little about what's happened in the chapter here at the end, and there _has_ been some developments between Megatron and Starscream I'm a little excited about. However, I'm afraid I'm just too exhausted at the moment to make any worthwhile commentary. I'd love to hear about your thoughts though, and anything that you'd like to mention or talk about I'd gladly listen and reply to. If you have any questions, feel free to leave me a few words as well. I answer all messages. :)

Anyways, thank you for bearing with me and the long wait between updates, and please leave me a review! It really does make my day to hear from you, so no need to be shy, yes? ;)

.

**Ps:** For information to future updates of "Insatiable", "Love Fabulously", and "Cepheus", please check my profile.

**Pps:** If you like Transformers, you'll love this show:

www. youtube. com (slash) watch?v=WfS8VQ7SmkM

I highly recommend it. It's really quite enjoyable, so I thought I should share.

The entire series is on youtube, so please give it a watch when you have the time!


	13. XIV

Disclaimer: Do not own Transformers.

**WARNING: **Mature content, and edited in one day.

* * *

><p>XIV<p>

"Star…" Thundercracker leaned close, and whispered in a conspirative manner, "Shouldn't we return to Vos?"

"Awww, TC, c'mon!" Skywarp answered before I could, "The party's just started! We can't leave _now_." He flashed Thundercracker a big grin, and took a big gulp from his cube of highgrade. "Here, try this. It's _real _good." He pushed the half-finished cube in front of our blue trine mate, and giggled.

Thundercracker looked down at the highgrade with a skeptical frown, and sent me a questioning gaze.

"It's…tolerable." I answered his unspoken question, and sipped my mostly full cube. It burned all the way down to my tank, and its taste reeked with impure properties. I grimaced. This was stronger than anything I have ever had before. It tasted horrible, but for some reasons, I simply could not stop drinking it.

Thundercracker pursed his lips, frown growing deeper, and sniffed at the highgrade. He took a tiny gulp, and almost spat it back out. Spluttering, he immediately pushed the cube back to Skywarp, all the while making retching noises. Skywarp, being the unsympathetic slagger that he was, threw his helm back and laughed, pointing at our coughing blue trine mate.

It took several kliks for Thundercracker to calm his rebelling systems.

"I still don't see why we have to attend this party." He sighed through his vents, and rested his helm in a propped up hand. "Vos is probably in chaos right now and all you two want to do is sit here with a bunch of drunken, rowdy ground pounders." He swept his optics around the room, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

After Sentinel Prime's torn, deactivated body had been disposed of to the Autobots – a present from Megatron and I, Kaon had fallen under Decepticon rule. With the perimeter secured, the new commander of the city had decided that a proper celebration was in order. The bars quickly filled with ground pounders drowning in highgrade. The whores had been rounded up and bought. Every building now bore the Decepticon sigil by way of coarsely applied purple paint. All civilians who survived the night cycle either joined the ranks or got slagged, their deactivated bodies melted down for spare parts. Overall, the mood was festive, which, apparently by Decepticon standards, meant drunken brawls breaking out around every street corner and couples participating in public interface in every alleyway.

I had every intention of returning to Vos as soon as Kaon had been claimed by Megatron. However, he insisted that I stayed until the start of the next cycle, saying something or another about solidifying our alliance in front of the troops. I did not fully understand the significance of such a thing, but according to Skywarp, my participation was very important in gladiator culture. I was simply surprised gladiators had a culture to begin with.

Under Megatron's persuasion and Skywarp's whining, I decided to stay, wanting a moment to relax as well. Based on the summary of the state of my city, sent to me by Nightfire upon my request, Vos was functioning as per usual, its civilians oblivious to what had happened in Kaon on this night. By my instruction, all contact with Iacon had been completely severed until my return. A meeting in regards to the Vosian-Decepticon alliance had been scheduled, and my advisors were already in deliberation on how to best address my citizens of the pending war situation. The number of perimeter guards had been increased. The labyrinth was closed to leaves until further notice. Firechaser was finally able to drink some energon by himself. Even Swiftglide had not sprouted any new conspiracy theories, though the fact that the one he had about Firechaser and the Autobots was correct unsettled me to an extent.

"Vos is fine. Our city is strong." I took another sip from my cube, wings twitching as it burned down my throat. "We will prevail, so don't flick your wing tips too much."

"Yeah, TC," Skywarp was already half sprawled on the table, looking at us with dazed, but happy optics, "If Screamer ain't worryin', why're you?"

Thundercracker looked him over, lips pressed together in a manner that clearly indicated he was kliks from entering creator mode.

"How many cubes of highgrade have you had?" He asked, staring at the cube in Skywarp's hand with a displeased expression.

"Not enough." Skywarp, catching our blue trine mate's stare, hastily lifted up his cube and chucked it down before reaching to grab another one.

"Stop that!" Thundercracker swatted at his hands, "Most of these empty ones are from you!"

It was true. Skywarp had drunk more cubes than Thundercracker and I combined.

"How your tank can hold that much liquid in the first place is beyond me." At Thundercracker's comment, we all turned to look at the other side of the table, where a big pile of empty cubes were.

"Well, you know highgrade," Skywarp swayed in his seat, optics shimmering and grin unwavering, "It don't stay long in your tank."

Thundercracker sighed, and opened his mouth. He was obviously in creator mode by now, which meant a long, boring lecture. I interrupted before he could begin.

"Leave him alone, TC. If he fries his processors, it's his own fault." Flicking a wing in a careless manner, I took a big gulp from my cube, and almost choked. Skywarp pointed at me and laughed. I glared, throwing one of the empty cubes at him. It bounced off his helm, and he almost fell off his chair.

"If he fries his processors, he won't be able to teleport us back to Vos." Thundercracker righted Skywarp before he could end up on his purple aft on the floor.

"Why do you have to ruin everything with your stupid logic, TC?" I spoke sulkily, and finished the remainder of my highgrade with much flinching, grimacing, and violent wing-jerking.

Thundercracker did not speak for a long moment, during which I grabbed another cube.

"Are you…okay, Starscream?" He asked, and I stared.

"Why?" I lifted up one of my brow-ridges, and sat up straighter. "I'm feeling perfectly fine. I'm not the one falling over in my chair and slurring like a glitched sparkling." Skywarp giggled at my comment, and murmured something incoherent. His cheek plates were flushed, and he had begun to hold a conversation with his empty cube. I was amazed that he had not started—

…He started to sing.

Thundercracker groaned, and hid his faceplate behind his hands. I only scrunched my nose bridge at the purple idiot as he waved a bunch of drunken grounders over, and urged them to join him in his singing. The sight of burly gladiators trying to learn the off-tuned melody of an old Vosian sparkling lullaby amused me long enough for me to finish my cube. However, there was only so much horrible singing one could take. When Skywarp staggered to stand on top of the table and began to bellow out a highly inappropriate song about the benefits of group interfacing, I quickly got up and left before the grounders could crowd me in like they did Thundercracker. My blue trine mate cried out after me and begged me to save him, but I only bounced away.

Thundercracker was going to be fine. Besides, _someone_ had to make sure Skywarp did not end up doing some of the things he was currently trying to sing about.

Skipping out of the bar Skywarp had pulled us into, I looked up at the sky, and took a deep cycle of air through my intakes. The night cycle was approaching its end, though the day cycle had not yet begun. Deactivated mechs could still be seen, littered along the streets, but they were gradually being kicked off to the side or picked up to be melted down. In the distance, sounds of buildings collapsing could be heard. The lighting system had gone down for many sectors of the city, but the flames burning strong were bright enough to lighten the sky to a rich, red hue.

Perhaps the highgrade was loosening my inhibitions, but I could not stop grinning and waving at the ground pounders I was passing. They waved back, sometimes shouting out a greeting, but they all kept their distance. Many leered at me and looked over my frame with lustful optics, but none of them dared to come close to touch. They did not even voice out their perverse thoughts, only watching as I sauntered past them. Shrugging, I found that I did not care, since I was too happy to want to shoot anyone.

After a while of aimless walking, I became lost. Everywhere looked exactly the same: fire, dead bodies, debris, fallen buildings, mechs drinking, mechs interfacing, and mechs sprawled out on the ground from either too much drinking or too much interfacing, or possibly both. I frowned, a sliver of disgust at the sight floating across my spark before I got distracted by the thought of wondering where Megatron was. After all, he was my ally. Was he not supposed to be with me? How did I end up going to a bar and drinking highgrade from a cube like a common soldier?

Walking was taking too long at finding Megatron, so I took off, not bothering to transform into jet mode. While I was not yet completely off my equilibrium circuits, an alert had popped up at the back of my processors, alerting me of partial inebriation, which meant flying at top speed was not a good idea. After a breem of aimless floating around, I realized that I could simply comm. Megatron to locate him. Proud of my ingenuity, I quickly pinged him, and he answered only a klik after.

:_Yes, Starscream?_: His voice tickled my auditory receptors pleasantly, and my spark did a happy little flip inside my spark chamber.

I really loved hearing him say my designation.

:_…You what?_: He asked.

:_Huh?_:

:_Nothing._: He paused a little. :_What is it?_:

:_Where are you?_: I did a lazy loop in the air, wings flicking up and down.

:_I'm in the west sector of Kaon. I just picked a new location for my base of operations._:

:_Oh, good,_: I flippantly replied, :_Your old one was _horrid_ – underground and dank. I do hope you picked a tall building, one befitting of your title now that you hold a city like me, though yours still has an awfully long way to go before it can even dream of becoming as glorious and magnificent as mine._:

:_You will be pleased to hear that I have, indeed, picked one of the tallest buildings._: He surprisingly did not sound irritated with my badmouthing at all.

:_I want to see it._: I declared with a slow barrel roll.

:_Turn around._: He simply said, and I frowned.

:_What?_:

:_Turn around, and you will see me._:

I turned, squinting through the dark. At first, I did not spot anything from my altitude, but when I lifted my helm, I spotted him standing at the topmost floor of a half demolished building. Without another word, I shot off toward him. As I got closer, I saw, with great displeasure, that Soundwave was there as well, partially hidden in shadows.

I scowled at him even though I was too far away for him to see my expression. I still had not forgiven him for failing to inform me of his telepathic abilities, and did not particularly desire any further interactions with him in the future. Fortunately, it would seem that I did not have to. He quickly left after a few quiet words with Megatron. I did not know if Megatron had dismissed him, or he had excused himself, but no matter. He was gone, so I was satisfied.

"Your new base needs a lot of work, Megatron." I sent my gladiator a small smirk, slowing down to a hover right outside the broken windows. "You don't even have a roof." I gave the top of the building a pointed glance.

He stayed silent for a few kliks, giving me a slow once-over, and I fanned my wings out just to give him more to look at. "That can be easily remedied." He replied, optics bright in the dark as they found mine once again. "You are enjoying yourself." He did not ask a question, but I answered as if it were anyways.

"Yes, I am, which is quite a surprise." I floated closer until I stepped onto the floor, "I usually dislike such vulgar activities." I put on my prettiest smile, and walked toward him, swaying my hips and flicking my wings enticingly.

"You don't drink highgrade?" He asked, voice soft but retaining all of its rough texture.

"I do," I sent him a small, amused smile as I circled around him to take a better look around the room, "But what I normally drink is much more refined than the slag you put up with." I sent him a playful glance, very aware of his optics following my form as I strolled around the large chamber. "I also don't drink highgrade from cubes."

I felt him move. There was a faint sound of him detaching the fusion cannon and placing it down as he approached me from behind, the distance between us diminishing. My wings twitched, and my intakes hitched a little.

"Is that so?" He sounded distracted. I could feel waves of heat rolling off from his frame. His cooling fans whirred on, and my smile grew wider.

"Yes," I whispered, anticipation seizing my thumping spark. My wings gave a small twitch, and all my sensors soared to life as I felt his energy field brush against mine. "This was the first time I tried it." He stopped right behind me as my voice trailed off, and his hands ran along the bottom edges of my wings in a teasing caress.

My intakes gasped. My whole frame shivered.

His rough fingers continued to tickle my sensitive appendages. They reached my wing tips, and gave them a small pinch. I let out a soft whine, optics flickering offline as I bit my lips and pushed back against him. His thick plating was hot upon contact, yet I only pressed harder, hands reaching blindly for his body.

He pressed his palms flat against the expanse of my wings. They roamed inward, massaging the joints. I moaned, and my fingertips finally found the scratched, coarse plating of his thighs, leaving light, tentative touches. He let out a deep growl, the sound backed by the roar of his engine. His arms wrapped around my waist, and he yanked me harder against his frame, possessive in every manner.

Suddenly overcome by an unbearable surge of desire, I squirmed, and grinded my aft against his searing hot crotch-plate. He let out a low grunt, cooling fans blasting hot air against my flight sensors. He became much more aggressive, hands roaming over my form, caressing every curve, leaving nothing unclaimed. His fingers trailed down my canopy, and their tips pressed into the seams, making me shiver, vents huffing in laboured breaths as heat raced through my fuel lines.

His hands groped across my chassis, pinching my turbines. I whimpered, pleasure shooting across my neural network to settle deep in my core. My valve had already grown warm, clenching expectantly inside me. Arousal had never overwhelmed me at such a quick speed, and it was embarrassing. Wonderful, but embarrassing.

I squeezed my thighs together, and hoped that it would stop him from noticing how much his touch affected the boiling lust in my spark. But of course he noticed exactly what I did not want him to, reaching for my thighs and forcing his way between them when I refused to part them.

He gave my valve cover a firm rub, and I threw my helm back, a small cry leaving my lips. He repeated the motion, and my hips shifted on their own, encouraging him for more. Lubricant coated the walls of my valve, and heat spiked higher in my core. His fingers traced the edges of my valve cover, and left tingling sensations that burned as he dug into the seams.

"Open." He hissed, lips pressed against my right audial. His voice was even raspier and deeper than usual, lustful desire thickening its texture.

"M-Megatron…!" I huffed out, bending forward, and almost buckled as my knee joints became weak.

"_Open_, Starscream." His words gained an edge of command, a vicious snarl, and I could only whimper as my port cover twitched, sliding open with an audible snap.

I was so surprised that Megatron had managed to so easily expose my valve that it squeezed, walls quivering as they clenched together. Lubricant came dribbling out, sliding down along the insides of my thighs. I cursed, humiliated, and my cheek plates flamed into a full flush. However, there was nothing I could do to stop the heightened rush of lustful charge from washing over my frame, nor the shaky, breathy utterance of his designation from leaving my vocalizer.

Megatron chuckled, the sound dark and rumbling inside his chassis. His arms tightened further around me, a gesture of ownership, and he promptly lifted me off the ground, sweeping me into the air. With an undignified yelp, I almost fell forward, clutching onto him and intakes hitching. In three strides, we were across the room, and I was, without ceremony, slammed cockpit first against a wall.

My hands pressed flat against the rough surface, trying to elevate some of the pressure. I wiggled, peds dangling in the air, and kicked around in attempts to find the ground. Megatron would have none of that. He gave me another hard, forward shove. My cockpit glass squeaked as my chassis clashing against the wall, and I let out a cry, cheek plate flush against the cold, unforgiving structure.

One of his thighs nudged between my legs. It rose until it pressed right against the wet rim of my valve, and kept me suspended, straddled. I bit my lips, vents huffing out a strained breath. Lubricant continued to seep from my port, and it smeared, leaving a big mess over the plating of his thick limb.

Megatron made a sighing growl. With one arm kept around my waist, he pushed his other hand between my thighs, and made a teasing probe at my valve. I instantly hissed, back arching and intakes gasping to a stop. My valve quivered, more than ready to receive a penetrating finger, but he only traced its outer rim, movement slow and firm. He was stimulating the exterior sensor nodes in a most torturous manner, elevating my arousal yet not satisfying my need. I squirmed and whined, trying to push down, but his finger darted away just before I could sink it inside me, not allowing me even a sliver of satisfaction.

"F-Frag it, Megatron!" I was so hot and bothered that I was just about willing to do anything to make him stop his sadistic teasing. "Stop fooling around!" I cried out, and craned my neck backward, sending him a glare. I tried to scowl, but could only manage frustration. I would have reached down myself to relieve some of that unbearable burn, but the slagger had placed our position so that if I took even one of my hands from the wall, I would lose my balance. I hated feeling so helpless, so dependent on his whim. However, a small part of me, the perverse, treacherous part of my spark, positively sang in shameless bliss.

"Ask nicely, Starscream, and you will receive." His voice was low, and it was downright drenched in glee. I swore through gritted dentae, refusing to let him make a begging whore out of me. One of his fingers pushed into my valve, just enough for its blunt tip to swirl against the edges of my inner wall. I squealed, and desperation struck me so hard that coolant began to gather under my optics, accompanied by the uneven jerks of my wings.

I wanted to curse him.

My quivering lips fell apart.

However, curses were not what left them.

"…Mega-…tron…P-Please…_Please_…!" I let out a choked back whimper, grinding my hips down against his fingers. His engine roared, and vibrations shook all over my wings from his broad chassis. I could almost feel the searing burn of his spark, every bit as swollen and needy as mine.

"Please what, Starscream?" His intakes and vents were loud, making laboured noises of cycling air. His voice carried a thick weight, bitten out and harsh, and I knew, right away, that his control was hanging by a mere cable. Something inside my spark, a pressurized sense of stubbornness, snapped without a single thought of reservation. A thin whine left my vocalizer, and a torrent of pleas, unrestrained, flowed out of my lips.

"Oh Primus, Megatron—p-please! Please! In-Inside—" I whimpered, wiggling my aft and making a whorish display of myself.

"Inside me! Please, inside me! I need it!" I begged, wings twitching violently on my back.

"M-Megatron," I called his name, helm tossed back and thighs spread wide.

"I want you inside!" I cried out, "I want you inside! I want you—"

Heat.

Pressure.

In a single move, he pushed his finger to the hilt into my valve.

A loud wail erupted out of my vocalizer, and my sensors immediately lit aflame as they were stroked by his rough digit, searing in sensitivity and pleasure. He did not stop, thrusting in and out, and quickly added a second finger, stretching my shivering, wet port.

Any inhibition I might have had was flung out the window. I thrashed, optics flashing on and off as I met his movements with enthusiastic cries. A tidal wave of pleasure slammed through my sensory network, and I keened, trying my best to match his thrusts with uneven, awkward motions of my hips. He added a third finger, and I strained my hip joints to part my thighs further, an incoherent plea stuttering past my lips.

My valve was already starting to feel full. It throbbed a little. The last time I had let another mech anywhere near my interface equipment was vorns ago, and Megatron's fingers were much thicker and rougher than my own. However, a little discomfort was not going to discourage me. I only moaned louder, and urged him more by riding harder on his digits.

The charge building in my core was starting to expand, sending out surges of scorching heat. I was almost alarmed by how soon I was approaching my peak, but there was nothing I could do to stop its inevitable approach. Megatron wrapped his arm tighter around my waist, and heaved me up from his thigh for a better angle. His thrusts became faster and faster, and my cries quickly became louder, gaining in pitch until it was a shrill screech echoing in the large, half-demolished chamber.

"Oh Primus—Oh Primus!" I offlined my optics, lips hanging apart. My fingers clutched at the wall I was pressed deliciously against, and my thighs began to shake, jerking in spasms.

"Oh yes! Yes-yes-yes-yes-_Yes—_!" I wailed, "D-Don't stop! Oh Primus-be-damned, please don't stop! Please don't stop!"

I could feel the hard blasts of hot air from his fans against my flight sensors. I could taste in the air the tangy scent of the lubricant dribbling out of my valve, making his movements that much sweeter and faster. His fingers were slick against the clenching, trembling wall of my port, rubbing against the sensitive sensor nodes embedded within it. The pleasure was maddening, and I was stripped of all my higher processing abilities, arching my back and screaming out pleas from my most basic of instincts:

"M-Megatron! Megatron!"

Overload was approaching. I shrieked, voice gaining a whole tone higher as my hands grasped wildly for anything to hold onto other than the flat surface of the wall. "Megatron! I-I'm going to—I'm going to-"

"Do it, Starscream." His snarling voice bit against my right audial, "Let everyone in Kaon know who has rendered you into a begging, wanton mess!"

A hard thrust, and I saw static. Mouth wide and agape, I screamed, entire frame seizing up in violent spasms, helm thrown back and wings stretched high. My valve squeezed, trembling around his digits. Lubricant came spurting out from within it, and splattered all over his thigh.

"Megatron!" I screamed, shamelessly announcing the designation of the ground pounder who had pushed me over into the most brutal of overloads I have had in vorns. "_Megatron—_!" I saw a blinding flash of white light, and, for a long moment, I could do nothing other than reel in ecstasy as pleasure convulsed through my body.

Megatron continued the motions with his hand, riding me down from the processor-stalling peak I had reached. All strength left my limbs as my intakes gulped in cycles of air, and I slumped forward against the wall, entire weight supported by my ground pounder alone. My valve gave one last quivering clenched, and I sighed, a shivering moan leaving my worn vocalizer. He slowly took his fingers out, wrapping them around my hips before he squeezed, smudging lubricant all over my plating.

As my processing power gradually returned, I realized with great embarrassment that I had overloaded before Megatron even unsheathed his spike. Regaining my motor skills, I reached back, and gingerly rested a palm over his blisteringly hot crotch-plate. His intakes hissed as he let out a low grunt. I smirked, and rubbed my fingers against the sensitive plating, squirming a little in his hold.

"…I did not say you can touch me, Starscream." He growled in a warning manner, and I sent out a scoff from my vents.

"You should be glad I'm even _considering_ touching you in the first place, Megatron." I spoke with much haughtiness, half a sneer forming on my faceplate. "Trust me," I tossed a glance over my right wing, "It's not an easy task to overcome the many faults of your hideous appearance to be intimate with you."

"Intimate?" His fingers tightened around my hip plating, and I winced as he dented the soft metal. "There's nothing intimate about a _frag_." He bit out, tone sharp-edged and malicious.

I visibly flinched, an icy stab of pain piercing through my spark. I could not move or think, disbelief rendering me completely speechless and silent. I was limp as a puppet from shock alone, and he used my rare moment of seeming docility to flip me around. He settled us down onto the dirty floor, me on my back and him on top, and I stared up at him, lips parted and expression frozen to that of dismay.

I could feel coolant stinging the bottom edges of my optics. Hurt was starting to seep through my spark. However, no matter how hard I tried, I could not even gather enough will to be angry with him, or his statement.

Megatron looked down at me. At first, his faceplate was blank and devoid of emotion. Aside from the haze of desire, he was closed off, optics bright but betraying nothing. However, as we continued to stare at each other, he started to frown, as though he could not understand why I was so offended by what he had said.

"This…is equivalent to the solidification of our alliance, is it not?" He asked, gaze carrying more confusion than his voice.

That confusion hurt, so I forced my optics away, and shakily answered in a breath of a voice:

"…Of-Of course…"

I saw him study my faceplate from my peripheral vision.

After a while, he finally replied:

"What else can it be, Starscream?"

He whispered, and I could no longer stand the sight of him, not even from the corners of my optics.

I offlined my vision, and kept still. A few moments passed, I felt him lean down, our energy fields brushing together before one of his hands cradled the side of my helm with a gentleness I did not expect. He kissed me, a firm, goading gesture by his lips. However, still, it took him several kliks just to convince me to join him.

Our glossas intertwined together in a slow dance. I let out a soft moan, arms reaching to wrap around his shoulders and pulling him closer.

I buried that hurt, because he was right.

What else could this possibly be?

His other hand trailed down along my frame, and eventually reached my valve. He pressed his fingers inside, and I whimpered as he rubbed at the sensor nodes, stirring my core back to arousal. He thrust his fingers in slow, long strokes, completely sheathing them before pulling them out at a steady pace. I moved my hips in accordance to his movements, intakes gasping as a potent, deep desire once again awoke inside me.

When he parted from our kiss and pulled out his fingers, I protested with a needy whine. He chuckled a little, but he did not return to his previous administrations as I had hoped he would. I felt him move downward, both hands roaming over my chassis, and then my waist. I curled my lips as I felt him leave trails of lubricant all over my cockpit, but before I could snap at him to stop defiling my impeccable appearance, he pressed his hands flat on the insides of my thighs, and spread them wide open.

Startled, I onlined my optics, and peered down. Energon instantly swarmed to my cheek-plates when I realized just what he was planning to do.

Megatron held my thighs apart, and his helm hovered right between them. My valve was completely exposed, and he was staring at it with such concentrated, perverse hunger that I would have scrambled away if I could. I tried to close my thighs, but he held them firmly in his hands. I wiggled and whined in embarrassment. My hands reached down in attempts to shield my interface equipment from his bright, flashing optics. However, one hard look from those bright, flashing optics immediately halted me in mid-reach, before he even said a single word.

"Stay still." He commanded, and I realized with much frustration that my frame obeyed before my processors could even give active consent. I only watched, half morbid and half aroused with fascination as he descended to my valve, and opened his lips. His glossa extended, less than a wingtip from my expectant, well-lubricated port. The sight was so vulgar that I almost offlined my optics and hid my faceplate behind my hands, but before I could, he gave my valve a long, firm lick, and I keened, back arching off the ground with a loud gasp from my intakes.

His glossa traced the outer rim, poking at the sensor nodes, and I shivered, biting down hard on my lips to stop a whimper from leaving them. My thighs shook as more lubricant seeped out of my valve, and he lapped them up, not missing a single drop. His optics shined, penetrating the darkness of the almost roofless room as he serviced me in the most degrading way a mech could. Yet, somehow, incomprehensively, he held complete control over my frame.

I tried to push my valve closer to his mouth, but his fingers clenched around my thighs, leaving aching sensations. I whined, and let out a sigh, helm flopping back to rest on the floor and optics offlining. Defeated, I could only allow him to do whatever he wanted as he suckled and licked at one of the most intimate parts of my body. The only thing left for me to do was encourage him by moans and whimpers, and hope that he was not in the mood for sadistic teasing much longer.

Megatron poked his glossa into my valve, flicking its tip against the inner sensor nodes, and I whimpered, clutching at the floor. He sucked against the rim, and I huffed out needy pleas, vents panting in heated breaths. He spread my thighs further apart, and lapped up the thick layer of lubricant coating my port. I cried out, hips shifting as I begged him to never stop, the lustful charge inside my core growing stronger and stronger by each passing klik.

He suddenly leaned away, and I gave a protesting whine, wiggling my aft in an inviting manner. When he did not even acknowledge me, I onlined my optics, and was greeted with the sight of his interface panel retracting. His spike pressurized, hard and proud in its impressive size, and I felt my lips fall open, optics widening. Its tip glistened with transfluid, and a drop slid down along its length, dipping slightly as it encountered each ridge lined with sensor nodes.

I was not familiar with ground pounder frame types and their spike sizes, but Megatron was definitely proportional in that department.

I would have been terrified at the prospect of having that big thing penetrate my valve if it were not for the fact that there was not going to be any penetrating happening. There were other ways to please a mech's spike, and I was still not sure whether I was proud or not that I was proficient in at least one of them. However, that mattered little at the moment. Megatron has been more than considerate in pleasuring me without tending to his needs himself, and I was not so selfish as to not repay that generosity with some incentive.

I licked my lips, and sent him a heated gaze of erotic invitation as I waited for him to release my thighs. He did not. He aligned his spike to my valve instead, and pressed its tip against the opening of my port.

My optics flew wide.

"W-Wait!" I shouted, scrambling as I pushed myself up onto my elbows, and stared at him with an expression of shock, "What do you think you're doing?!"

He gave me a flat stare, not saying a word.

"No, I-I mean—…" The tip of his spike rubbed against the exterior sensor nodes of my valve, and, as thick tendrils of desire squeezed around my spark, I almost forgot why I had stopped him from spiking me for a moment.

I quickly shook my processors clear, cheek-plates flushing hotter. "I-I—…I'm not—…You can't!"

"I've already prepared you, Starscream." He replied, optics narrowing as he bit his jaw joints. I could tell his control was slipping. His arms were outright trembling as he forced himself to pause, to not plunge into my valve in one, smooth thrust.

"No, y-you don't…understand," I spluttered, struggling weakly under him and averting my optics. "I—…I can't—"

He cut in with a frustrated sigh, vents blasting hot air against my chassis.

"I have yet deactivated a mech by spiking him." He growled out, voice carrying an almost threatening texture. I felt his energy field flare with irritation, and wanted to cower away.

"Th-That's not what I—…" I stuttered, making a fool of myself as I tried to explain. Megatron must have been unbearably charged, for he made an annoyed grunt, and shifted his hips back in preparation to thrust into me regardless of my stalling. Terrified alarm shot though my spark in an instance. I pushed against his chassis, and let out such a loud screech that he immediately flinched away, spitting out a string of profanities as one of his hands shot up to rub against his audials.

"What's wrong with you?!" His voice was thunderous in the quiet room. He glowered down at me, lips curled in a frightening scowl. Shadows created deep creases in his faceplate, and his optics were like flaming smelting pits, bearing down and cutting straight to my spark.

I whimpered in fear.

My lips quivered.

I looked down at his spike, still positioned right in front of my valve. It was so stiff and thick, throbbing with heat and arousal. A dribble of lubricant slid down along the sensitive rim of my valve, and I shook, moaning brokenly, torn between squirming away and begging him to drive his spike into me to the hilt with one thrust.

"Just…lay still, Starscream." Megatron took a deep cycle of air, and instructed. His faceplate was scrunched in an expression of near pain as he spoke, voice gruff and hoarse, and I had never felt more admiration toward his sheer strength of will than at that moment.

"But—"

"-I'll be gentle!" He bit out, looking thoroughly embarrassed to be promising such a thing. It would have been funny, but all I do was cry out in protest as he tried to spike me once again.

"-No! No—!" I kicked my peds frantically as I tried to struggle out of his hands. "I-I can't!" I squeaked like an upset sparkling, and whimpered in shame when I felt my movements cause more lubricant to squirt out of my valve.

Megatron finally lost his last bit of tolerance toward my behaviour.

"My patience is not without limit, Starscream!" He roared, and pinned my thrashing thighs still. "Stop moving or it _will_ hurt!"

"_No_—!" I shrieked, punching at his chassis and bucking from the floor. "P-Please! Don't do it! I can't—…I can't—"

Optics offlining, I blurted out my reason in a miserable wail:

"I can't let anyone spike me!"

-and hid my faceplate behind my hands, waiting for the impending doom of being slagged by a charged and angry ground pounder.

Megatron froze. He kept his firm hold on me, but he did not move a single joint in his frame. We remained in our compromising position, me lying spread out wantonly beneath him and his spike hard and ready at my dripping valve. The silence grew long, and it became so awkward that my wings had begun to shake against the floor, making an odd, buzzing sound amidst the stillness of the half demolished room. My flight sensors hurt as the rough texture of the floor grazed against them, but I did not dare utter a single complaint, not when I was more vulnerable than I could ever be, right in the clutch of a gladiator.

An eternity must have passed, but still, Megatron did nothing. I tentatively peeked through my fingers, and saw his dark faceplate looming over me with an unreadable expression on his features. His optics were still piercingly bright. His lips were pressed tightly together in a downward line. His brow-ridges were in a frown, and heat rolled off from his plating, almost creating steam in the cool, night air.

"…I-…" My voice was high and light. I could not decipher his expression, so I assumed that he wanted an explanation. "I…have to…" I made a face and let out a strangled groan. "I have to remain in tact until I spark-merge, Megatron!" I turned my helm away. "It's—…It's a Vosian custom that I must abide to!" I bit my lips, and tried to force the burn in my cheek plates away as I stuttered on, "…But we could—…p-perhaps…" I could not finish my suggestion, and trailed off, voice dwindling to nothing.

Silence once again reigned over us. However, despite the uncomfortable situation, neither of us lost the desire still burning wildly in our sparks. The last shred of self-control I had was beginning to slip, especially with the tip of his spike so firm and hot against the soft, yielding folds of my valve. The scent of our mingled fluids was strong in the air, creating a heavy, musky tinge hovering around us. The joint sound of our whirring cooling fans was the only thing breaking the quiet, tense atmosphere. My thighs periodically shivered. His fingers were still tightly wrapped around them, keeping them in place.

I knew Megatron was watching me, but I was too much of a coward to look back at him. I felt his hands jolt a little before giving my thighs a caress. However, to my surprise, he actually leaned away. At the loss of heat from his spike against my port, I bit my lips, stopping the whimper of disappointment from spilling out of my vocalizer. I thought he was simply shifting to place us in a different position, but he leaned away altogether, hands falling from my thighs.

Prompted by confusion, I lowered my hands from my faceplate, and sent him an inquiring gaze. He was moving back onto his peds, and I realized, with a start, that he was preparing to stand up. My intakes hitched in a small gasp. My fuel pump skipped a beat. I immediately reached out with a hand, and grabbed him by the arm.

"What are you doing?" I asked, staring at him, wide-opticked.

He did not reply, expression still unreadable.

"Where—…Where are you going?" I insisted, fingers curling tighter around his arm.

He stared back at me a while longer, until a nasty sneer suddenly tore through the false calm on his expression.

"…Get out…" He hissed, and pointedly turned his helm away so he no longer had to look at me.

My spark ran cold, and I was certain I had heard wrong.

"…What…?" My voice shook as I hesitantly asked.

"…Get. Out." He gritted through his dentae, completely unmoving in his half-crouched position in front of me.

I shook my helm, my spark shriveling in confusion and hurt. I tried to reach him with my other hand, calling out to him with a wavering voice:

"…M-Megatron—"

"_Get out!_" His sudden, explosive roar startled me so much that I immediately balked from him and scrambled away. His optics burned with such intensity that light crackled out of his optics like flames from the smelting pits. I had never seen him so furious before, not even when he had battled opponents in the arena. I could not, by my spark, figure out just why he was suddenly so mad.

He stood up as soon as I scurried out of his sight, frame trembling with rage. He turned his back on me with an abrupt jerk, and clenched his large fists, fingers digging into his palms. He strode for the other side of the chamber, until his hulking form was half covered in shadow. The lack of light made every injury he still sustained appear even more jagged and deep, yet he barely seemed to notice them, consumed as he was by a fury that made his energy field flare like lightning clouds.

I skidded away, wings twitching in wariness, and watched him with round, cautious optics. His cooling fans whirred even louder than before, and his engine growled in a menacing manner. I did not know if I should simply fly away or stay and try to figure out what was bothering him. I felt as though I should speak to him, to salvage something intangible. However, my vocalizer had frozen, not willing to make a sound.

"I told you to _leave_, Starscream." His voice was so sharp and hard-edged that it cut through the air like a hot blade, straight through my spark. I did not understand why he was so angry. What have I done that warranted such an aggressive reaction? There were other ways to frag around without the actual fragging part, and Skyfire had not minded, so why would he?

Besides, Megatron should be eternally thankful that I had allowed him to touch me in this manner to begin with. Primus-damn-it, he should beg to lick my peds for my lenience toward him sticking his fingers into my interface port! How dare he make a fool out of me like this, barking at me to get out as though I was nothing more than a cheap prostitute?! I was the Crown Prince of Vos, and no one, _no one_, was allowed to treat me with such blatant disrespect.

My hands shook as they curled into fists. My wings flicked unevenly on my back. Humiliated indignation burst aflame inside me, and overtook my throbbing spark in an instance. Dentae biting together, I snarled, glaring at the broad back of the glitched slagger of a ground pounder in front of me. My null rays gave a sharp whine as they activated, and I had every intention of shooting the rusty bucket-helm in the back.

However, even as I sent the command for my arms to rise, to take aim, none of my cables moved. Something was holding me back, and that fueled my frustrated infuriation even further.

"You _will_ address me with your faceplate, Megatron!" I screeched, stomping down one of my thrusters against the floor, "How _dare_ you dismiss me in such a manner!"

He did not even move a single finger, and my anger combusted inside my spark chamber, the energon in my fuel lines boiling to critical levels.

"You ungrateful fragger!" I screamed, voice high-pitched and shrill. "I let you _touch_ me!" I must have pushed my vocalizer too far, for it broke mid-sentence, and cut to static.

The only indication that he heard me was a small jerk from one of his fists.

"_Megatron!_" I shrieked at him.

However, still…

There was no reply.

My jaw joints ached from the sheer force with which I gritted my dentae. My spark constricted, writhing in such agony that coolant had begun to rise in my optics as I fumed on my peds and waited for him, desperately, to say something, _anything_.

But he did not.

He stood painfully still, as though he could not trust himself to move, and kept silent. Coolant finally fell, and I swore, furiously wiping them away.

"Fine," I hissed, and shot him the most malicious glare I could muster even though he could not see it. "You will never lay another finger on me again, Megatron!" I shouted with all my might, and turned sharply on my heels, valve cover snapping closed. I walked toward the broken windows, spark quivering and knees threatening to buckle under the rage and shame I felt. "I _hate_ you!" I screamed into the sky as I promptly transformed, and took off, engines screeching as I shot through the air in jet mode.

I did not know if he had turned around and was watching me fly away as he had done the first time we met, but just in case he was, I made sure he would not be able to tell how much my pride had suffered.

My wings still spoke volumes about the turbulence in my spark, but no grounder could read a flier while in alt-mode.

I flew away at top speed, careless of where I was going. I was sparklessly played and thrown away like a worthless whore, and I felt dirty, used, and betrayed. I had not allowed any mech to so intimately hold me since Skyfire, yet Megatron, the despicable fragger, simply tossed me aside just because I would not let him take my seal. To make matters worse, what gave me even more contempt and fury was not even him, but myself, and that I had actually allowed this whole thing to happen in the first place.

How could I have been so _stupid_?! I had known ever since the beginning that he did not give a slag about me, and yet I—…still…continued to willingly participate in this twisted, perverse game that I was destined to lose. For frag's sakes, I had practically thrown myself onto him! Of course he would treat me like I was worth nothing! Why would he do otherwise, when it was me who'd offered, legs spread and port displayed?

My wings quivered, and I hastily pinged Thundercracker, intakes stuttering. My spark almost collapsed in hurt when his gentle, soothing voice came through the comm.-line, and reached my audials.

:_Star?_: My emotions must have trickled through our trine bond. :_Star, what's wrong?_: He asked, voice soft and concerned, and I had to bite back the sobs that threatened to spill over.

:_Where are you?_: I said instead.

:_Just outside the bar we were in,_: Thundercracker made an exasperated sigh with his vents. :_Skywarp finally keeled over after all the highgrade he drank. He purged his tank for almost a whole joor, and he's unconscious now, so I took him outside. Hopefully, the night air will cool his circuits. He's overheating a lot._:

:_Oh…_: I replied, processors too scrambled to come up with anything else as I continued to fly around aimlessly.

:_Where are you?_: Thundercracker probed slightly out of worry alone, :_What happened?_:

:_Something that will never happen again._: My voice stammered a little, and I ignored his first question.

:_…Star?_: Thundercracker inquired. I could almost imagine his frowning faceplate, and I laughed, making humourless huffs.

:_You were right, TC._: My voice was bitter as I spoke, the potent ache in my spark strong and persistent. :_I should've never gone to Kaon that night cycle, to that pit fight._:

I took in a shuddering cycle of air, and ex-vented in a sigh.

:_If I hadn't gone that night…then…_

:_…then things wouldn't be as how they are now._:

Thundercracker did not speak for several kliks. I knew he was surprised. After all, I seldomly admitted to any faults I had committed.

:…_Come find us, Star,_: Thundercracker finally answered, tone warm and comforting. :_You know where we are. We will wait for you._: He paused. :_Well, _I_'m waiting. Skywarp is just lying here._:

I scoffed with my vents. However, the sound was nowhere near as sarcastic as how they usually are.

:_So…I will see you soon?_: My blue trine mate prompted, and I sighed again.

:_Affirmative. Starscream, out._: I turned off my comm., and abruptly changed my flight path.

Sometimes all I had was my trine. Or rather, sometimes all I had was Thundercracker. If he were to ever drop out of my life, I honestly would not know what to do.

I flew around buildings, and, before long, the bar came into view. A number of ground pounders were staggering out of it, stumbling into each other and tripping over their own peds. There were a lot more of them sprawled out on the ground, though, recharging away the highgrade in their systems. The party had finished. The night cycle had ended, and it was time to go home.

Thundercracker looked up as soon as I cleared the last building, and gave me a small smile. I transformed, landing quietly on the street, and walked toward him, not quite meeting his gaze.

It was time to go home, but because of a certain purple idiot who chose the most inconvenient of times to be overcharged and offline, we could not.

All we could do was wait, three Seekers stuck in the worst pit on Cybertron, far from our Vos and its glowing, tall towers.

"Come, Starscream," Thundercracker beckoned me over. "Sit beside me." He patted the large chunk of metal he was currently perched on, expression pleasant and inviting. Debris hardly made a good seat, and this one was obviously once a part of a wall. However, I was too tired complain, and simply flopped down beside him the first instance I could.

Glancing to Thundercracker's other side, I found an open-mouthed Skywarp lying on the rest of the broken wall, limbs spread-eagled and vents making spluttering noises. "How long is he going to recharge for?" I wanted to sneer, but I was too emotionally spent to conjure such expression, so I sulked instead, and sent Skywarp a weak glare.

"Hopefully not that much longer," Thundercracker answered. He placed a hand on Skywarp's helm, and gently rubbed.

A comfortable silence settled between us. I leaned back to rest against the wall of the bar, and offlined my optics. A few breems passed, and I was on my way to entering light recharge when I felt Thundercracker move, shifting on the debris beside me. I thought he wanted to say something, but he did not, and the silence stretched on. Several kliks passed. Still, he said nothing. Curious, I onlined my vision, and caught him staring at me with worried, widened optics.

"Star—…" He began, but immediately stopped. I was blissfully unaware and confused until I decided to figure out what he was looking at, and followed his gaze downward.

Only then did I realize he was staring at the half dried lubricant coating my thighs.

Shame and humiliation returned with a vengeance. I hissed as though blistered, and instantly crossed my legs, optics offlining. I tried to turn away, but a firm hand on my thighs stopped me. I almost jumped, and when I finally gathered the courage to re-online my optics, I found Thundercracker holding out a cleaning cloth, a concerned, but kind smile on his face.

"Let me." He whispered, optics in a soft glow. He did not insist. He did not judge. He simply wanted to help me, and his support was unconditional.

He only wanted to wipe me clean, and that was because he _cared_.

My frame began to shake, but I parted my thighs as asked. He reached between them, and carefully dabbed away the lubricant soiling my white plating. He did not look even a little disgusted, expression almost serene as he cleaned up the mess, the mess I had made. His movements were calm, and he rubbed little circles, making sure to not miss a single stain.

Coolant pooled in my optics, and once again fell. It dropped onto my cockpit glass, and slid down, mixing into the lubricant Megatron had smeared over my orange-tinted canopy. Thundercracker noticed that as well, and dutifully rubbed it away, movements delicate and careful. When tears continued to wash down my cheek-plates, he put his cleaning cloth aside, and gently brushed away the clear droplets. He held my faceplate in his hands, and did not say a word even as I soundlessly cried, wings trembling behind me.

He did not ask any questions. He only held me when my intakes began to hitch, and I could no longer hold his gaze.

I offlined my optics, and leaned toward him, helm falling to his shoulder. Thundercracker scooted a little closer, and wrapped an arm across my back, rubbing the bottom edges of my wings.

"I'm sure Skywarp will wake up soon," He spoke to comfort, voice gentle and warm against my left audial, "And we will return home, to Vos."

I only nodded, and clutched onto him.

We sat in silence, and simply waited for the beginning of a new cycle.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes:<strong> Come now, you didn't honestly think things were going to be _that_ easy for Starscream and Megatron, did you? ;)

Once again, special big thanks to reviewers: _Starcee138_, _cerebral-mess_, _Random523_, _lildevchick_, _Ashcola17_, _Koluno1986_, _Guest_, _The-writing-Mew_, _Deathtomushrooms_, _Cjade_, _rj545_, _MegaScream-Love_, _PwnKage_, _Guest_, _Cloud Kitsune17_ (I'm glad you checked out the link and found the show adorable! I thought Yuuta was a girl at first too, haha!), _aki. vn_, _Guest_, _Devlinn Reiko_, _KrazyMusician_, and _Tolaya_! Hearing from you really made my day!

Hmm, to be honest, I'm not really sure what to recapitulate here. I feel like a lot has happened, but I'd rather hear what you guys think about it, haha!

Please leave me a review! And thank you very much for reading. : )

PS: You should really check out "Brave Police J-Decker". It's super cute, and it expands on robots as sentient beings. It's all on youtube as well.


	14. XV

Disclaimer: Someday in the future…perhaps…by a virtually impossible chance…I will own. For now, however…D:

**Edit:** Please excuse any stupid mistakes you spot. This was proof-read in a day's time, and I didn't want to wait to go over it again. Sorry!

* * *

><p>XV<p>

"Come _on_, Screamer!" Skywarp whined, sending me an exaggerated, disturbing pout as he begged. "I'm dying here!"

"You're not dying as far as I can tell, Skywarp, so you will stand still and remain on your spot as you were instructed." I replied in a dry voice, not sparing him any more than an annoyed, sideways glance.

"But I need to slag some Autobots!" The purple nuisance actually stomped his peds like a sparkling, which was odd and startling to look at since he was bigger than me. "Why do the Fighter Jets get all the fun? It's not fair!" He wailed as though the fact that he was observing on the sidelines was physically harming him.

"Shut your vocalizer!" I finally snapped, hissing at him through gritted dentae. "The reason you are here with me and not with the Fighter Jets is because _you_ belong to the Royal Trine! This assault is hardly important enough for my participation, which means _you_ stay where _I_ am: _uninvolved_." I sent him a full glare, though nothing seemed to deter my trine mate from whining to get his way.

"But Screamer—!" He stuck out his lower lip component and dared to scoot closer to me to nudge my wings, "Watching is so boring! I want in!"

"No." I sent out a short, curt huff through my vents, and turned away from him, crossing my arms.

"Starscream—!" Skywarp only whined louder. He made another grab for my wings, and I skidded away, jerking my appendages far from his fingers.

"Find someone else to bother!" I commanded, not that doing such made any difference. He did not heed my order at all, practically throwing himself on me and pawing at my wings in expression of his boredom.

"Starscreeeeeeam—! _Pleeeeeease—!_ I'm really _dying_ here!" My idiot of a trine mate latched onto me like a parasite, and proceeded to rub my wings in the most irritating manner possible, miserable, pathetic sounds accompanying his agitating of my sensitive flight sensors.

"Arrgh—Stop that!" I pushed and punched, but he was too close for me to do much damage, which only made me more frustrated. "What the frag is the matter with you?!" I smacked at his faceplate when he tried to nuzzle my neck cables in a mocking display of affection. I knew he was only doing such a thing to get on my nerve circuits so that I would finally become frazzled enough to send him away just to kick him out of my sight. "I'm ordering you to stand down!" I could hardly take any more of his downright ridiculous behaviour.

Skywarp only made a careless, spluttering sound.

"I'm a Decepticon. You can't order me." He sounded awfully pleased, keeping his arms tightly wrapped around my torso and leaning most of his weight against my frame.

I scowled, starting to get angry at his goading.

"Megatron himself said Seeker participation is unnecessary, you dolt!"

"And when do you ever listen to _him_?" Skywarp retorted, hanging onto me like an persistent leech. "…Don't tell me lil ol' Screamer's afraid of big ol' Megs!" He spoke with a nauseating coo, and I felt rather than saw him grin. His words froze me on the spot. I had never been more utterly unnerved and worried for his sanity in all my long vorns of knowing him than that moment.

My neural network prickled as a shiver ran through my frame, from tips of my wings to the bottoms of my thrusters. He must have been truly bored to an extreme degree, giving a mech like Megatron such a horrifying, downright inappropriate nickname.

"…Just don't make a mess of the Fighter Jets." I grumbled, and the purple slagger actually whooped as he jumped in the air, throwing his arms up with his loud exclamation of victory.

I was just glad he was no longer holding me.

"Yeah!" He cheered, and gave the air a swinging punch, optics glittering, "Those Autobots are gonna get their afts kicked so hard that they won't know their exhaust pipes from their mouths!" With such cry announcing his attack, he disappeared with a loud "pop", and left Thundercracker and I on the platform.

…With very disturbing, graphic imagery.

"I'm so disgusted that I can't even _begin_ to think of an adequate description for his scale of stupidity." I croaked out, faceplate in a repulsed sneer, and tried in vain to rid my processors of such picture. Thundercracker laughed. He approached me from behind, walking closer. When he replied, his voice was surprisingly casual and light-sparked:

"I learned long ago to not take what he says too seriously, Star."

I let out a hum, and returned to watching the scene unfolding before my optics.

The Autobot top-security penal institution in the outskirts of Solre Apex was being burnt to the ground. A team of my Fighter Jets was deployed for the assault, shooting down Autobots from above, while a core unit of Decepticons broke into the facility. This marked the second Autobot city the Vosian-Decepticon alliance had attacked so far, though calling it a city was clearly an exaggeration. Solre Apex was little more than an oversized industrial sector built to keep the inmates busy. There were no civilians here, only guards and convicts.

A perfect place to recruit mechs suitable for the Decepticon cause.

The Autobots has yet presented any significant resistance. Their lack of resilience in Megatron's war was almost disappointing. They had good weapons, since not all brilliant minds in Iacon were peace lovers. However, without Prime, they were a directionless army, focus scattered. They were strong. They had great numbers. Some of them were even skilled, despite being ground pounders and Autobot, but they lacked a driving force to lead them in battle, and their morale was low. They were no match for the combined forces of Vos and Kaon.

I _was_ mildly surprised, however, that the Autobots of Solre Apex had lasted this long without being forced to retreat. Their launchers were ineffective against fliers, and the group of grounders Megatron sent on this mission was unexpectedly well-trained and disciplined, for a bunch of gladiators that used to live in the gutters. Many Autobot security officers have already been deactivated, but the rest did not look like they were giving up any time soon.

The western quadrant of the prison facility blew up all of a sudden, the explosion bright and angry against the calm darkness of night cycle. The noise was audial-shattering. Flames consumed much of the buildings. Shadows of ground mechs could be seen scurrying around. Artillery fire was heard from all direction. Compared to general chaos, shouts and screams were quiet. However, the intensity behind them could be felt even from my perch a long distance away, high up and safe from gunfire.

The only reason I was overseeing the battle at all was for the new recruits. I had to make sure they were aware that Megatron was not the commander of our alliance. I was authority even though I would not be directly commanding them, and they needed to be made aware of such fact. I understood the necessity of this procedure, and, under normal circumstances, I would not mind showing a bunch of ground pounders their proper place at all. However, ever since the encounter with Megatron in that roofless room, I had been dreading this necessary but mundane ritual, because it meant I would be close to him, close to the mech I had whored myself to.

I sent a small glance to my left, where Megatron was standing with Soundwave by his side. The self-appointed Decepticon Supreme Commander was still, frame bathed under the flickering light from the battle below us. His optics held a slight glow, and the accompanying pressed lips told me that he was thinking about something. Primus knew what he was pondering over in his processors, though. I heaved a sigh through my vents. Even the fact that he was several wingspans away could not appease the pinching, tight sensation in my spark. My flight sensors caught every slow cycle of air from his intakes, and such stimuli agitated me.

He did not look over even when Skywarp made a spectacle of our trine. There was no way he could have missed our banter and Skywarp's blatant insubordination, but he made no indication of having noticed anything at all. His utter lack of reaction bothered me much more than I was willing to admit. I did not know whether to be glad he was leaving me alone or angered that he still had not apologized for kicking me out of his new base of operations in such an undignifying manner.

Megatron seemed pit-bent in pretending nothing had ever happened between us. This left me unsure, confused as to how to deal with him. He had yet spoken to me about anything other than war business, and his whole demeanor toward me was so cold and detached that I might as well have been speaking to an unfeeling drone. All our conversations since The Incident had been uncomfortable at best, during which long silences were the norm. Our first faceplate-to-faceplate conference, my ceremonial visit with my advisors to Kaon, had been so awkward that even Skywarp did not attempt to joke about it afterwards.

A hand touched my left wing, and I almost jumped, the gesture having startled me. My wings made such a violent jerk that Thundercracker, the perpetrator of the small rub, yelped and took a whole step back just to avoid being smacked in the faceplate. I swirled my helm around, and we were equally wide-opticked for a brief moment before my blue trine mate approached me again.

"I apologize. I did not mean to surprise you." He frowned slightly as he placed his hand onto the leading edge of my left wing, "You look very tense, Star." He squeezed a little, and slid his thumb over one of my flight sensors. Oh that felt good. I let out a soft sigh, optics offlining. My back arched, and my vents made another spluttering exhale before the tension in my joints began to ease. My right wing gave an inviting flick, and Thundercracker wrapped his other hand around its leading edge as well.

There was nothing quite like having your wings massaged by a trine mate, and Thundercracker was an exceptional massager. He knew all the right spots to rub to make a Seeker's knee joints weak, and applied just enough pressure on the wing tips to leave one's sensory network tingling with warmth and pleasure. It felt amazing, so I simply tilted my helm back, and enjoyed his attention. If any other flier were to touch me in such a manner, it would have been interpreted as the initiation for interface. Thundercracker was my trine mate, though, so he held special privileges. He could pull me into an entangled mess on his berth and I would have allowed it, unless I was not in an affectionate mood of course.

"What's on your mind?" He asked in a murmur as he slid his fingers along the bottom edges of my wings.

"The war," I answered with a bitter huff, "What else can possibly be on my mind these cycles?"

Thundercracker did not reply right away. He rubbed circles over the expanse of my wings with his palms, and gave the side edges small pinches.

"I can think of a few other things." His seemingly nonchalant comment made my joints seize up, to which he responded with soothing pats. Before he could ask further, however, a loud "whoop" of delight cut through the noise of battle. It distracted both Thundercracker and I, his administrations on my wings pausing while I tilted my helm, optics onlining to find out who had made that sound. A familiar purple and black jet shot across the sky, dropping explosives on the Autobot prison. I should have known. Skywarp's silliness truly knew no bounds. I sneered, vents huffing in annoyance, and Thundercracker laughed.

"I'm surprised you can find humour in the situation, Thundercracker," I chose to ignore my blue trine mate's original inquiry. "I thought you'd be horrified at what's happening down there." My chin gave a small jerk toward the fire and carnage.

Thundercracker's fingers hesitated. They hovered over my wing edges for a moment before resuming their kneading motions.

"Casualties are inevitable in war. I know at least that much," His voice was softer than before, but he sounded much calmer than I expected. "…They are Autobots, not civilians." His fingertips gently dipped into the seams of my wings, leaving light strokes against my neural sensors. I almost sagged against him, a breathy moan floating past my lips.

"The extent of your righteousness is not very far, is it, Thundercracker." I whispered, leaning back a little and offlining my optics. He might have tensed behind me, but he made no indication of having done so in his movements. We stood in silence, him servicing my wings and me enjoying his attention. Explosions continued to rage below us, sharp licks of flames against my plating.

The heat was growing more potent. It left a pleasant kind of warmth in my fuel lines. I could hear the rumbling engines of my Fighter Jets, a deep, background chorus to Skywarp's cackling as he shot his null rays. Frantic cries and bellowed curses mingled together into a loud cluster of discordant chords. This music was hardly kind on the audials, but, oddly enough, I liked it.

A prickling sensation crept up my wing joints. I frowned, not knowing what it was at first. Thundercracker noticed my increasing discomfort, so he quickly ran his fingers along my tense joints, making me sigh and flick my wings. However, the sensation refused to go away. Annoyed with its persistence, I reactivated my optics, and, following the pull of my spark, turned my helm. There, on my left, I spotted Megatron.

He was watching me.

My intakes made a small, hitching gasp, and my fingers clenched a little. I bit my lips, brow ridges knitting together, but my souring expression hardly deterred Megatron in his staring. In fact, he narrowed his optics, and studied me with even more scrutinizing interest. I quickly realized that he was not quite looking at me, but rather, he was studying the way Thundercracker was massaging my wings. I did not want him to look. My left wing twitched upward, and Thundercracker paused. Megatron's optics flashed as they met mine, and I scowled at him, intakes uttering a low hiss.

Thundercracker's hands hovered over my wings for a while. He seemed to realize we had an audience, undoubtedly following the direction my helm was inclined toward. He pressed his palms against the surface of my wings for one last stroke before he stepped back, heeding my silent command that our little massage session was over. My blue trine mate returned to my right wing, and I gave him a small wave with my appendages in silent acknowledgement of his service. Aside from that, however, my entire attention was zeroed in on the ground pounder a fair distance away, who still had the audacity to be looking at me with an almost curious expression on his faceplate.

I glared at Megatron, gritting my dentae and slitting my optics. My wings perked up higher on my back, prideful and arrogant, and he glanced over at them, making me bristle. I wanted nothing more than to jump off the overhanging cliff and fly away just to stop his blatant staring. My wings were not for his viewing pleasure. Just knowing he still dared to claim me with his gaze made my tank churn with disgust.

Megatron's optics returned to my faceplate. What little expression he had was gone, replaced by aloof composure. I glared him down over my nose bridge in silent challenge for him to speak, but he only stared at me a little longer before turning away to examine the battlefield below us. The slagger. I let out a sharp huff, and snapped my helm away as well. I was not here for him to gawk at.

A low, shuddering sound of heavy machinery reached my audials, and I followed it with a tilt of my helm. Large hovercrafts bearing the Autobot insignia were taking off, separating from the prison facilities engulfed by flames. The Autobots were finally giving up. They were retreating, leaving the prisoners to Decepticon command. Our mission was a success, but I hardly felt any joy of victory. There was little for me to gain here. Little, of anything at all.

The hovercrafts lifted higher from the ground, and, with a loud roar of its big engines, flew away in vague direction of Praxus. The Fighter Jets did not pursue them, as I had not instructed them to, and slowly returned to their formation to begin surveying the area for Autobot survivors. Skywarp danced around them for a while before disappearing with a "pop". Less than a klik later, he reappeared right in front of us, a grin so wide that it almost split his faceplate in half.

"That kicked _aft_!" My purple trine mate exclaimed as he landed, optics glittering and laughter bursting out through his lips. "I can't believe you two just stood here and watched while I had all the fun, not that I'm really complaining." He said as he practically hopped toward us, giddy on his peds. "I bet I'm gonna get promoted in the Decepticon ranks real soon!" He announced with a swing of his arms, and I lifted a brow ridge, wondering if this idiotic trine mate of mine was trying to make suggestions at the Decepticon commander several wing spans away.

Probably not. Skywarp looked to be honestly oblivious to how loud he was being, so I brushed it off as him being his usual careless self.

"What are you going to get promoted to, Skywarp?" I crossed my arms over my chassis, "Resident moron?" I drawled with a mocking smirk, and he made a face.

"Why do you have to be such a little glitch all the time, Screamer?" He curled his lips, genuinely offended. "I was in such a good mood too, and you just had to ruin it."

"Watch your vocalizer, Seeker," My smirk fell into a sneer, voice gaining a threatening tinge. "Remember who _let_ you have your fun."

"What the frag's the matter with you?" Skywarp tossed me a pointed glance, and shook his helm as he walked to Thundercracker. The two of them immediately went into happy chattering, and I pressed my lips together, watching their antics with displeasure.

There was nothing for Skywarp to be proud of. After all, shooting down Autobots was what he was _supposed to do_, the bare minimum requirement. And what was so great about accomplishing that?

My attention was diverted from my trine mates when the Fighter Jets completed their patrol and started to approach me. My soldiers were in perfect formation, not a single wingtip out of place as they flew, transforming in unison before reaching a hover. Their general floated closer, an aged flier whose vorns of existence rarely showed. He bowed as soon as he reached appropriate proximity to do so, and placed his right hand over his spark.

"Bladeflight reporting, Sire," He announced, "All hail Prince Starscream."

"Rise," I nodded, and waited for the jet to straighten. "What is the status of the prison facilities?"

"Demolished, your Highness, as you instructed," Bladeflight stood in attention as he explained, keeping still in the air. "No Autobot remains functioning. The Decepticon unit has secured the weaponry chamber, and the prisoners are in the process of being freed and inducted into Decepticon ranks."

"Good," I praised my Fighter Jet general, who made another bow, before glancing over at Megatron and Soundwave. The telepath was intoning one thing or another, and Megatron was listening, nodding curtly every once in a while. The Decepticon unit must have been making their own reports.

Noticing Bladeflight waiting for my address, I turned back to face him.

"There are no further orders at this time. However, be stationed and remain alert."

"Affirmative, your Highness." Bladeflight replied with a small, downward jerk of his helm.

"I doubt we will stay here for long, so be ready to return to Vos. Refuel if you must. Patrol the area again if you think it necessary."

"Affirmative, Sire."

"Good work, Bladeflight." I gave my general a polite, but honest smile. "You are dismissed."

"My gratitude, Prince Starscream. Long live Vos!" Bladeflight bowed once again before turning away, a flick of his wings signaling his soldiers to follow him in formation. Their sailed downward, a graceful glide heading for lower terrain. Their descent led my optics to the cliff-face, and that was when I first noticed them, a small group of grounders making their way to the platform Megatron and I were standing on.

Two of them belonged to the unit of Decepticons that attacked the prison facilities. I only recognized Blitzwing, his intriguing status as a triple-changer marking him amongst the faceless grounders of Megatron's army. They were leading a third mech up the slope, and I had to crane my neck cables to catch glimpses of him. Due to the shadows, I could not see the mech's entire frame, but he was clearly a prisoner, the shabby state of his plating worse than even those of gutter dwellers. However, what really caught my attention was the way he walked.

He had a limp, but his posture was distinctly different from the way gladiators and criminals carried themselves. His movements held a composed quality, indicating that he once belonged to an institution of class. Though incomparable to that of a flier, he was rather lithe. He was not very tall, at most average for a ground pounder, a common height for those in academic professions.

I frowned.

What was a mech like him doing in a cell?

I was not the only one watching the small group. Megatron and Soundwave had gone silent, optics and visor following the trio's approach. Thundercracker and Skywarp had stopped their chattering as well, undoubtedly curious as I was about the identity of the mystery mech. All prisoners were brought before Megatron, but it was always done as a collective whole. This meant that this mech had to be special, in a manner more important than just his way of walking.

"Who have you brought me, Blitzwing?" Megatron asked, looking at the mystery mech. I cursed his broad back as it blocked my view, prompting me to have to walk over.

"Uhh," Blitzwing stepped aside, and one of the mystery mech's shoulders was revealed. "He didn't really introduce himself, boss, but he was the only one in the maximum security cells, so we kinda figured he was important. He wanted to speak to you, so we brought him over here."

Megatron did not reply, but unclasped his hands from behind his back. He turned on his peds, and spoke directly to the grounder still frustratingly out of my optical range.

"State your designation, prisoner." Megatron ordered just as I stepped around his bulky frame.

"Designation Shockwave, sir," A single, yellow optic flashed on a helm without a faceplate, "I am honoured, truly, to have finally met the one leading the revolution that has been long overdue to come."

I almost balked, gaping at him with lips falling apart in no small amount of surprise.

"Shock-…wave…?!" I blurted out, staring at the mech, who turned toward me and stared back with his unnerving, single optic.

This could not be Shockwave.

I felt a shiver prickle over the sensory network of my wings.

I knew Shockwave, not personally, but enough to know that this…monstrosity of a Cybertronian could not be him.

Shockwave was one of the frontier scientists who worked and taught at the Iaconian Academy of Science. I never had him as an instructor, but Skyfire had attended his classes and enjoyed them. Shockwave was not a social mech, so I only saw him a handful of times throughout my metas at the Academy. From what I knew, there was nothing impressive about him. His work was dull and uninspired, and he often blended into the wall. However, he was undeniably well-learnt, an intelligent scientist with sharp processors. I had gotten wind of him dabbling in politics, but I certainly never saw him in any conferences, so I was inclined to dismiss such allegations as rumours.

I did not know Shockwave well, but this deformed freak without a face could not have been him.

"…Prince Starscream," A note of recognition emerged from this imposter's voice, his single optic flaring brighter. "Greetings." He nodded amiably, and I felt my wings give a violent shudder. I did not reply, fighting the urge to take a step back. I looked over the rest of his form, and felt my lips sneer to mask my utter repulsion.

There was hardly any place on his body untouched by rust and filth. I could hardly tell what colours made up his original paintjob. Burn marks littered across his frame, suggesting that this mech had been tortured during his stay in the Autobot prison. Parts of his plating were clipped and torn right off, exposing inner circuitry. He was missing a hand altogether, loose wires and cables dangling from his wrist, sometimes sparking at the severed ends. The flat box of a helm dipped to one side as he waited for me to finish studying him. The yellow optic seemed to blink at me, and the almost coy gesture made my spark twist with discomfort.

Everyone was watching us with varying degrees of interest. Megatron was closet to me, tilting forward as he tried to meet my optics with a questioning stare. I could see him on my peripheral, but I could not tear my gaze away from this delusional mech in front of me, claiming to be Shockwave. This imposter even pretended to know me, even when it was clear that I harboured nothing but suspicion toward him.

"I have never had the pleasure of teaching you at the Academy, I'm afraid." He continued to speak when I refused to respond to him. "It's a shame, really." He blinked again, then blurted out, "I _have_ read some of your essays, however. They are quite remarkable."

Perhaps he was trying to lighten the mood, but I could not be sure. His tone, despite carrying lilting fluctuations, was emotionless and cold, as if he was imitating how one spoke rather than speaking. There was something extremely uncanny about him, something that made me anxious. I wondered, with a nervous spark, just how much of his deformity was unseen, hidden behind this facade of a broken mech.

The silence grew heavy. Blitzwing and his companion shared a worried glance, shuffling on their peds. Megatron was still watching me, as was Soundwave. I could not see my trine mates, but I ventured a guess they were glancing between the imposter and I.

The mech's single optic made another small flash, and his helm jerked a little, as though he had just remembered something.

"By the way, your Highness," He asked, voice light and offhanded, "How is Skyfire doing?"

My spark froze. My joints tensed. My jaws grew tight as I bit my dentae, and I pulled my wing joints tight to stop my appendages from expressing the jolt inside my chassis. I heard Thundercracker's intakes hitch to a stop, and felt Skywarp shift on his thrusters. I did not know when I had clenched my hands into fists, but my fingertips were digging into my palms. They ached a little.

"I enjoyed teaching Skyfire immensely," The mech dared to continue, talking in an airy tone. "He scored highest in my class."

The silence grew heavier.

"You went on the space expedition with him, didn't you?" The yellow optic brightened further, a ghastly glow on a faceless helm. "I believe I wrote his letter of recommendation to the Director of the Academy. It was such a long time ago I can hardly remember…"

There was the pretense of a fond glimmer, a warm note frosted over emotionless words.

"I was arrested before you two came back." He paused. "I would love to read the reports from your expedition, though, if either of you still have a copy."

He stood still on his peds, much too still for a mech broken out of a torture chamber.

"Speaking of the expedition, Skyfire was very excited about it, even more so than I had anticipated." He might have been thoughtful, but the intonation became muddy where imitation reached its limit. "I was under the impression that he was planning something, but he was very mysterious."

That single optic, protruding from a mass of blackened parts and twisting wires, stared right into mine.

"Might you know what it was?"

I felt sick.

My spark squeezed in my spark chamber, and I could no longer think, or rein in the churning grinding my insides.

I felt so ill, processors a storm of dizzying, swirling thoughts. Pain stabbed into my core, boiling my fuel lines, and the energon within them became sizzling hot. My vents had frozen. My intakes stopped. My internal temperature surged to erratic heights, and I began to tremble, no longer capable of controlling the shuddering in my limbs. My fuel tank suddenly made an especially alarming, agonizing pinch, and, like an eruption of currents, I felt energon hit the back of my throat.

A spluttering, choked back cry left my vocalizer as I abruptly bent over, stumbling to the side. I tripped on my thruster heels, and almost fell faceplate first into the ground before a pair of arms caught me. With a violent heave, I purged my tank, consumed energon splattering against my palm and dripping through the cracks between my fingers. Warnings blared in my processors. I was overheating. However, I could no longer regulate my systems, vision blurry and unfocused.

I retched until there was nothing left in my tank, kneeling on the ground, wings rattling on my back.

Thundercracker's voice eventually reached my audials. He was speaking to me, but I could not process his words. I slowly realized that it was him who had caught me before I could fall. He was kneeling next to me, holding me close and rubbing my wing joints even though the puddle of energon I threw up reached his knees. I knew Skywarp was shouting in the background, but I could not make sense of it, unable to care what he was yelling about.

All I could hear was what Shockwave had said. There was no question now, no doubt in my spark that this atrocious mech was indeed Shockwave. I might have wondered what had happened to him that made him the way he was, but I did not having enough strength, enough will to rip my thoughts away from the question he had asked me.

I knew why Skyfire had been so excited.

I did not find out until I came back to Cybertron, a frantic mess of a Seeker.

I had searched that blue planet for almost a whole stellar-cycle, trying to find him after he had crashed.

I looked _everywhere_.

I scoured the sky. I walked the land. I scanned every ocean with all sensors tuned to their topmost sensitivity, and started the search all over again.

I did not stop searching until I barely had enough energon left to make my way back home. When I did, I threw away all my duties, and dedicated every ounce of power I had to gathering a search party for my Skyfire. I bought the best equipments. I rented the fastest, most advanced space craft. I recruited the best mechs for the job, abusing political privilege without second thought when they were needed elsewhere. My whole city was practically in shut down as I flew about aimlessly like a helmless drone, pushing the limits of my frame because the wind was the only thing that could offer me a sliver of comfort.

The night cycle before my search team was to leave Cybertron, I went to Skyfire's recharge chamber. He had a suite in my tower, and another with his family unit, but his most frequented room had been the one in Iacon, in the apartment we were renting together. I could not recharge, so I visited his room. I sat on his berth, and stumbled upon a data pad hidden inside a compartment I had never noticed prior to that night.

I knew why Skyfire had been so excited about the space expedition.

He had planned on asking me to bond with him, complete our engagement, on the last planet we would visit.

Everything was on that data pad. All the plans he had made, all the designations of mechs he wanted to invite to our bonding ceremony in Vos: they were all there. He had even wanted to invite ground pounders he'd befriended at the Academy to the ceremony. He probably thought that I would definitely give them clearance after a little convincing on his part, and he was right.

I would.

…And as I held that data pad, there was only one thought in my processors.

Skyfire was gone.

There was no possibility of him having survived that horrible, horrible storm.

I had searched everywhere, once, twice, thrice, and still had not found any traces of him.

Skyfire was gone, and there was not even a wing tip left of him for me to keep.

…

…Voices…

…began reaching my audials.

I could still hear Thundercracker, being the closest, murmuring words of comfort and concern. Skywarp sounded angry, but he was no longer shouting. Someone was asking him questions, a deep, rough, commanding voice – one that I knew. However, every time I tried to remember who it belonged to, my spark would clench, and the pain, made worse by flashes of memory files, would become unbearable.

Another voice was speaking as well, emotionless yet full of lilts and expression. Hearing it made my tank protest in aching discomfort, which was why I was glad when Skywarp snarled, interrupting that voice. The sound of stomping thruster heels followed, and another pair of arms joined the first, wrapping around me. They carefully lifted me back onto my peds before leading me toward the edge of the platform. We stepped over the cliff, and I vaguely wondered if I should activate my thrusters.

I quickly realized that I was floating in the air without them. I allowed the arms to guide me into the sky, and deactivated my optics.

Thundercracker was speaking to someone, who sounded curt but respectful, before talking over my helm. He then abruptly let me go, and I panicked, optics onlining in a flash as I clutched at the arms still keeping me in the air. Snapping my helm to my left, I saw Skywarp, who was supporting my weight while Thundercracker floated to his other side. "It's okay, Star. I got you." My purple trine mate said with a smile, but I only looked away, not knowing why he did not seem to mind that I was smearing consumed energon all over his chassis.

"Got it, TC?" He asked, and Thundercracker replied with an affirmative. I could sense Skywarp activating his teleportation sequence, when a compulsion to look back at the platform gripped me with such a force that my joins seized.

My optics met Megatron's for barely a klik before my surroundings darkened and faded away. However, even so, I saw it, something different about him.

There was an expression I had never found on his faceplate before. His optics still shined brighter than the inferno burning the Autobot prison to the ground, but their glow was unfamiliar, unlike any other time I had ever seen.

I did not have the time to study him further. With a "pop", my trine mates and I warped back to my recharge chambers in Vos. They moved me to my berth, and settled me onto it with great care. They were exchanging worried glances, speaking softly to each other, but I only watched. Thundercracker took out a piece of cloth from his subspace, trying to wipe at my lips, but that gesture bothered me, so I turned my faceplate away, and let out a protesting whine.

"…It's a different cloth, Star," Thundercracker looked almost flustered. However, upon hearing his statement, I allowed him to dab me clean.

"What are you talking about?" Skywarp asked, a frown of confusion on his faceplate. Thundercracker did not reply, and only shook his helm.

After I was cleaned, my trine mates stood to leave. I grabbed their hands, a sharp gasp leaving my intakes as I stopped them. After a moment of deliberation, Skywarp lied down on the berth beside me. Thundercracker gently pried my fingers off from his arm, and rubbed my wing when I refused to let go of his hand.

"I need to comm. someone and take care of a few things, but I will be back," He explained, smile warm but a little sad. "Skywarp will stay with you, so don't worry." His palm was warm, wrapping around the side of my faceplate. "You're not alone, Star." He promised, "You have us." He spoke with reassurance, though I did not understand why he said such a thing.

"…Does…he know…?" I asked.

There was only one worry in my processors.

"…Who?" Thundercracker frowned, sending Skywarp an inquiring look. Skywarp's optics did not meet him. They were on mine instead, carrying an uncharacteristic weight that I would have never associated with their bearer.

Skywarp seemed to know something Thundercracker did not, and that frightened me, just a little, because Thundercracker had always been the more perceptive one in our trine.

"He doesn't," Skywarp spoke, gaze unwavering and voice stark. "He asked, but I didn't tell him." He paused a little, and, thankfully, his startling expression split into a smile. "I won't tell him anything."

I nodded once, and sighed through my vents.

Good.

That was good.

"You should rest now," Thundercracker said. "You've been looking like you haven't been getting enough recharge again." He leaned away, so I scooted closer to Skywarp, and offlined my optics.

My trine mates exchanged a few more words. Their meanings were lost to me.

I fell into recharge. The last image file I saw as my processors shut down was of Megatron, watching me from that platform with the strange, unreadable expression.

I did not know why, but it made me feel a little better.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes:<strong> I love being healthy. What I couldn't do in a month I did it in a day, haha!

I'm very sorry for the month-long wait between updates. I caught the flu, and then, just as I was getting better, I caught a cold. I wish I can now promise a quicker updating schedule, but, with school picking up, I don't know if I can. Please be patient with me. I promise to try my best!

Special thanks time once again to my reviewers! You guys really make my day, especially while I was feeling sick. To: _6MissSparklez9, lildevchick_,_ Sneefee (I still can't believe you drew me a picture – thanks so much!), The-writing-Mew_,_ DragonsOnMoon_,_ Starcee138_,_ Ashcola17_,_ rj545_,_ Deathtomushrooms_,_ Koluno1986_,_ cjade_,_ Pandablubb_,_ cerebral-mess_,_ Tolaya_,_ The Happy Shark_,_ Guest_,_ tiedwithribbons_,_ Luxie14_,_ KrazyMusician_,_ riah riddle_,_ moonlightnight1_,_ Rendianami_,_ aki. vn_,_ loverofmythology_,_ Supermoi_,_ len_,_ CloudKitsune17_,_ InfiniteR_,_ MalevolentMask_,_ Delition_,_ Devlinn Reiko_,_ IAmSilversky_,_ Skylark Starflower_,_ DemonFoxGirl1000_,and_ Ebony Kain,_ thank you so much for leaving me a few words!

Oh, and just a note:

Anonymous Reviewers: Just in case you were not aware of this before, I am unable to reply to your reviews. However, please know that I appreciate your comments greatly, and read them with much happiness. :)

Signed Reviewers: I've noticed that I sometimes receive comments that have a screen-name, and this worries me a little because I keep thinking that perhaps you're expecting to hear back from me. I cannot reply to you if you haven't logged in, or if you'd disabled your PM feature. If you've been wondering why I've been neglecting you, one of the above reasons might explain it. XD

Hmm, now, this chapter…It's really more-or-less a bridge. While introducing Shockwave! I'm actually quite fond of Shockwave. Starscream's views do not express my own, so please don't misunderstand! Next chapter, on the other hand, ohhhh it'll be all sorts of exciting. It's the prelude to a very important change in the story, and just to tease you further, I'll leave you a hint:

The next chapter will involve one of the most significant events in the course of this war, one that will lead to a shift of power unprecedented in the history of Cybertron.

Now live in anticipation.

;)

Review, please?


	15. XVI, i

Disclaimer: Why do I not own? :'(

* * *

><p>XVI<p>

(i)

Cybertron left the orbit of the most recent sun it had ventured close to. The temperature abruptly dropped, and chemical clouds gathered. There was little light aside from artificial sources. Pollution from ground pounder cities returned with a vengeance, and acid rain poured from the sky, making loud, pelting sounds against the windows. Even after three cycles straight, it had not stopped. The clouds remained black and thick, writhing like a massive creature crying in pain.

Vos continued to function as usual, though now, hardly any flier went outside unless a flight was absolutely unavoidable. I'd issued an order banning all sparklings and younglings from taking the air. Special repellent wax had been distributed to every household, even those in the deep towers, to protect sensitive wing plating from getting damaged by the acidity and moisture. While the rain was not deadly, long exposure could lead to numerous complications, all of which hindered a flier's ability to fly. Patrolling officers had to be given large cloaks for better protection, but wearing them sacrificed speed, which caused widespread grumpiness amongst the Fighter Jets and Strikers. It was not uncommon to look out a window and spot an officer peeling off a drenched cloak in disgust. However, the security force was not the only ones becoming hateful toward the weather.

Due to the reluctance of other fliers to leave their homes for supplies and other necessities, Cargo Shuttles had to make more trips around Vos. No cloak was big enough for the large sized fliers, so they had to smear on layers upon layers of repellent wax, which irritated surface sensors. Smaller fliers such as Seekers and Stealth Jets had an even worse time. Lighter plating was more sensitive, and the compounds found in the repellent wax were not kind. It was difficult to pick between an itch to fly versus an itch in the wing joint, as neither were particularly desirable.

I cycled air through my intakes, and stared at Nightfire's lips. The Space Shuttle was reporting on energon productivity and other related subjects, but I barely listened, his voice a murmuring drone in the flat silence of the Grand Hall. I was one of those highly affected by the Primus-damned rain, which made me even more excitable than usual. The smallest irritation could set me off into an explosion of fury, and the tiniest matter not going the way I wished could inflict an episode of uncontrollable frustration. I had never gone to the firing range so many times within one cycle prior to this continuous period of disgusting weather. I had been informed that the rain was going to last a whole mega-cycle more, and I had never so whole-sparkedly hoped my science unit was wrong before.

At least the Autobots had stopped pestering me with video calls of peace and harmony. I made a scoff halfway during Nightfire's report, and he gave me an inquiring look, which I waved aside, lounging in a rather unsightly sprawl on my throne. The war had already taken off, and I was pleased that my side was winning with ease. There was no reason for me to acknowledge the fretting Senate, especially when their interest has never hold much importance to me in the first place.

Speaking of the war, Megatron's army seemed to be in rapid growth. He had proven to be a much more capable commander than I'd expected, and, for a ground pounder, he was half intelligent, which was refreshing to see once in a while. Speaking to him was still somewhat awkward, but we stopped having long silences during our meetings, video or otherwise. I was still irked that I had made a hideous spectacle of myself that cycle on the platform. Thankfully, Megatron did not seem keen on mentioning that incident, and I was more than happy to oblige.

Besides, that whole thing was entirely Shockwave's fault.

Thinking of that one-optic still made my tank churn, especially since the slagger had managed to score a good position in the Decepticon army. He was instantly placed as the head of scientific research, though why a bunch of gladiators needed anything researched was beyond me. Skywarp later informed me that Shockwave, after Skyfire and I left Cybertron for our expedition, had openly challenged Autobot authority by publishing a series of provocative essays attacking the Senate system. Surprisingly, despite his ability of blending into the wall, he managed to attract quite a large, supportive audience. This did not sit well with the Autobots, which was why, one cycle, Shockwave simply disappeared. Within the following night, all trace of him ever existing was gone, along with every single mech who asked about his whereabouts.

No one knew what the Autobots did to him at Solre Apex. However, judging from his lack of a faceplate and his missing hand, it was not pleasant. Megatron apparently gave him a new hand in the form of a gun, but even mighty Megatron did not know what to do with his box of a helm, so Shockwave was left with a light bulb as his faceplate.

I took another cycle of air through my intakes, and dismissed Nightfire with a flick of my wrist as he finished his report. More advisors came forward with matters to discuss, but I only leaned my cheekplate against my palm, and stared out the hall through the flight deck. I was so utterly _bored_. Even with a full schedule, my cycles had been flat, unbearable in their dullness. Between battle strategies, alliance business, economic worries, and an overfilling sewage system, I did not even have the time to visit Firechaser in the recovery chambers. According to Nightfire, he still has not spoken, but he has been drinking more energon, which was a definite improvement in his general well-being.

Ramjet came forth, and bowed with such exaggerated flourish that I was sure he was trying to infuriate me. I scowled down at him, but chose not to acknowledge his stupid efforts, merely jerking my chin at him to rise. He went on to give me a summary of recent progresses for his troops. New weapons, courtsey of Nightfire's family unit, had been introduced to the Conehead Seekers, who had been practicing to become accustomed to the launchers. Unfortunately, their drills had to be cut short due to poor weather conditions, but according to Ramjet, the results had been mostly positive so far.

I was on my way of falling to recharge when a distant, booming sound reached my audials. The floor beneath my peds vibrated, and I perked up, suddenly alert. Ramjet stopped speaking, looking around with a frown. My advisors and I exchanged confused glances, but none of us could answer the unspoken question apparent on all our faceplates. There was a moment of stillness in the air, with only the splattering of acid raindrops breaking the silence.

Until, it came – the crumbling of walls.

The sound was small at first, prelude to the sharp, cracking noises splitting through the calm quiet of my city. In less than a klik, the dense rumbling of a buckling structure followed, resonating between the pillars of my Grand Hall. The sound was coming from far away, but it echoed through the hypnotizing rhythm of the rain like a sonic boom before the crash, a screeching cry of splintering metal. The rolling reverberation of aftershock shook the floor. It was very small, but the chill in my spark was enough to freeze me in my throne, fingers gripping the armrests.

For a long moment, I only stared ahead, trying to wrap my processors around what in Primus's name just happened.

"…Stormstrike?" I asked in a whisper, anxiousness twisting inside my spark.

Stormstrike did not answer. One of his hands was raised, fingers placed against one of his audials. He was motionless as a statue, optics in a hard glow and lips pressed into a firm line. There was a dark shadow cast over the expression on his faceplate as every flier present waited for him to speak, all intakes hitched to a stop.

"Stormstrike, Report!" I snapped out an order, leaning forward from my seat. My voice was especially high in pitch against the heavy silence in the hall, cutting through the tension like a blade. My Striker general remained still for a few kliks longer before he lowered his hand. He cycled air through his system, and turned toward me, shock a simmering flame behind the calm discipline of military protocol.

"Sire," He spoke softly as he raised his optics to meet mine, "One of the outer towers has fallen."

Silence hung around us like chemical fume, thick and corrosive.

"…Explain!" I demanded, fingers tightening further around the armrests of my throne.

"Surrounding patrols are already en route to investigate, but judging from the manner with which the tower fell, there seemed to have been explosives involved."

Startled glances were shared between my advisors, but I could only gape at the Striker in disbelief.

"_Explosives?_" I repeated in a hiss, lips curling into an angry sneer, "Who in the pits would detonate explosives inside Vos?!" My exclamation rang inside the Grand Hall. Nightfire wrung his fingers together, and glanced at a frowning Thundercracker.

Stormstrike did not reply at first. His somewhat vacant stare indicated that he was mid-comm.. When he finally returned his attention to me, there was a grim glint in his optics. "General Stormstrike reporting possible Militant Code-Level Zero, your Highness." He said, arms straight at his sides as he tipped forward in a shallow bow. "Requesting immediate leave for Border Control Commanding Office."

"…What…?" I had meant to sound more in control, more commanding, but only a whisper left my lips, stunned as I was. "That's not—…" I shook my helm, trying to dispel the thick haze of dismay clouding my processors as I stuttered, "That's not possible!" I looked over the faceplates of my gathered advisors, running a breath through my intakes. "Militant Code-Level Zero means that there's an—"

My words were abruptly cut off by a series of explosions, booming from the outer edges of my city. They shook the very ground my tower was built upon, and I cried out, clutching the arm rests as the world seemed to waver, shifting on its axis. My advisors let out various sounds of surprise. Thundercracker stumbled with a gasp, and would have fallen had Nightfire not caught him before he could.

"Stormstrike, request granted. Bladeflight, accompany Stormstrike and wait for further instruction." I pushed off from my throne as soon as the shaking stopped, and did not wait to see my generals leave. "Ramjet, Thundercracker, with me!" I called out as I hurried toward the highest take-off deck of my tower, strides brisk and wings agitated. My fuel pump raced, a speeding beat inside my chassis. "What is _happening_?!" I snapped at no one in particular, glaring ahead, fists clenched by my sides.

Ramjet instantly followed, as did Thundercracker. "Everything is being investigated as we speak, Sire," The Conehead was the one who answered, vents making a frustrated sigh after a slight pause. "Stormstrike reports no visual confirmation of any enemy activity, but several towers on the outmost edges of Vos have fallen."

"Towers don't fall by themselves, Primus-damn-it!" I shouted, wings trembling as I stormed down the corridor. "I want a reason within the next breem!"

"Affirmative, Sire." Ramjet bowed his helm. "Orders for immediate action?"

"Double patrol guards and dispatch field medics. Dig out my fliers with your bare hands if you have to!" I spat out orders, processors reeling with questions and worry. "Open all med bays, and alert all military and security personnel of possible Level Zero. Comm. Bladeflight. I want all Strikers, Fighter Jets, and Seekers stationed and ready for battle within the next ten breems." I heard Thundercracker catching up to my right wing. I turned slightly, and met his optics. He gave me a small, but encouraging nod.

"Order forwarded, your Highness." Ramjet replied.

"Good," I felt a scowl form on my faceplate, "And figure out how the_ slag_ my towers fell without anyone getting past the labyrinth!"

We arrived at the take off deck. Slapping aside protests for me to put on repellent wax, I grabbed the nearest guard's cloak and threw it on. The doors to the deck parted. I strode out, optics scanning over my city.

I instantly spotted the area of commotion. Despite it being hard to see through the rain, there was definitely smoke from the western quadrant, right before the labyrinth wall. However, that was not my only concern. Many curious fliers were peeking out from their windows, some even venturing out onto their flight decks for a better look.

Slag it, if this did turn out to be a Level Zero, I had to make a city-wide address.

"Issue an immediate state lockdown. No civilian is to leave his home until further instruction." I addressed Thundercracker this time, who bowed slightly.

"Sire," Ramjet suddenly spoke up, taking a step closer, "It appears that the towers have fallen from demolition of their base."

"Explain."

"It's possible that explosives were attached to the foundation of the towers," Ramjet paused a little. "I've just been informed that patrol teams are currently scanning surrounding towers for more explosives."

"_Scanning_?" I almost blew a fuse. "Tell them to slagging _walk_! What good is scanning in this weather?!"

"The foundations are under rain water, Sire."

"Then open all drainage routes!"

"They have already been opened, your Highness, but the rain is too heavy. The water is rising faster than the sewage system can drain it. All systems are working at above capacity, but—"

"-_Wait_!" I cut Ramjet off with a swing of my hand, realization smacking me in the processors so hard that they almost stalled. My extremities started to shake, making the thick cloak shift against my plating. My optics widened, and my lips parted. They quivered as I fought to utter my next command, spark freezing to dread inside my spark chamber.

I could not believe it.

My city was no longer impenetrable.

"…Deactivate all drainage systems and close off all water exits." My voice trembled.

"But Sire, Vos is going to—"

"Do as I say!" I shouted, pitch and volume rising.

"Prince Starscream!" Ramjet took another step forward, insistent and bewildered, "If the water level continues to rise then—"

"For frag's sakes, Ramjet!" I swirled on my peds and screamed at the slow Conehead, "Our city has been _infiltrated_!" When Ramjet continued to look confused, I almost slapped him. "The drainage routes! They are an opening through the labyrinth!"

"The drainage routes are underground!"

"Slag it, you stupid Conehead—They have to _lead_ somewhere which can be accessed!"

How could I have been so blind? How could I have overlooked such a glaring vulnerability? Having a sewage system that led outside the labyrinth was inevitable, but the pipes were underground and usually protected by webbed bars laced with sensors, sensors that would alert border patrol if anyone was crawling around. However, due to the massive amount of rain, the bars had to be lifted to allow unobstructed water flow.

By Primus, Cybertron barely even _had_ rain. The drainage system was deactivated most of the time anyways. I had been careless, issuing a command for the routes to be fully opened so my city would not become flooded, which was what ended up happening regardless.

And mechs were getting into my city.

Ramjet looked so shocked that I almost laughed in his faceplate, but the sound would have been too sharp, too cutting for the audials and the spark. I only stared at him, optics equally as gaping as his.

"All drainage routes have been closed, Star." Thundercracker spoke softly, ending the silence, and I took a deep cycle of air.

"Tell Stormstrike to increase border protection. Reformat the labyrinth, send in patrol officers," I went back to watching the west quadrant of my city. "_Any_thing that moves, deactivate on sight."

"Affirmative." Ramjet replied, taking a step back. He was silent for a few kliks, undoubtedly forwarding my order, before speaking up once again: "What of the mechs that might have slipped through our city's defenses?"

"Shoot them down." I answered curtly.

"They might be hiding in the rain water, Sire. It's difficult to run scans to find them if that were the case."

"Then patrol the area with extra caution!" I snapped out, fists hard and shaking by my sides. "I don't care how, but find the slaggers and extinguish their sparks."

"Affirmative, your Highness."

As Ramjet extended my order, Thundercracker approached me, mannerism wary.

"Do you…really think mechs would hide in water with such high acidity?" He asked me, skeptical.

"Ground pounders are fragged in the processors, so I'm not taking chances." I replied, voice a low, bitter growl.

"…Should we contact the Decepticons?" He inquired, and I had to physically restrain myself from lashing out at him.

"Are you suggesting that we cannot fight our own battles, Thundercracker?!" I snarled, optics narrowing. My wings made a violent jerk on my back, and I bit out through gritted dentae: "We don't _need_ their help like they need ours. _I_ will protect my own city!"

"But Star," Thundercracker, surprisingly, did not back down even after I explicitly told him what I thought of his inane questions, "We are in an alliance."

He opened his mouth to say more, but I pinned him back a glare.

"No ground pounder will set a single ped into Vos," I hissed, lips curling into a sneer. "All who does will be exterminated on sight!"

"Of course, your Majesty." Thundercracker quickly bowed, and lowered his gaze. I scowled at him some more before turning back to watching my city with a huff. How could he even _ask_ such a thing? I would be smelted in Unicron's pits before I look to _Megatron_ for help. I was above him. I did not need him to fight my battles like he needed me.

"Sire," Ramjet's voice interrupted my thoughts.

"What is it?" I barely turned toward him.

"Stormstrike reports hovercrafts on the horizon. They are approaching Vos in all direction, numbers currently unknown. However, it's clear that the fleet is massive." I felt my optics widen. "They all bear the Autobot insignia."

"Is Stormstrike certain?" Anger began to rise in my spark.

"Affirmative, Sire." Ramjet answered.

"Has there been any attempt of contact from the Autobots?"

"Negative. They arrived without declaration."

The insolent slaggers—They _dared_ to attack my city without declaration of war. Vos was officially governed separately from the rest of Cybertron. I was not the head of some criminal group, Primus-damn-it. I was the Crown of an independent city state! There were protocols to be followed!

I cursed, wing joints tightening.

Not to mention, just as I had feared but expected, the Autobots were using their sheer bulk in number to their advantage. While I had suspected an attack on Vos was coming, I honestly did not think it would happen so soon. However, there was no time to dwell on why the Autobots were so quick to change to the offensive. They had already gotten lucky with slipping in unnoticed through the sewers. They were not going to get lucky again.

"Alert all military personnel of definite Level Zero. Strikers in front, Fighter Jets behind, Seeker teams will remain on stand-by." My voice was curt, my words clear. I stood tall and firm on the highest point of my city, determination a fiery burn inside my chassis. "Bring down the hovercrafts. Autobots rust on the ground." Vague shapes emerged from the curtains of acid rain, shadows on the horizon. "The sky is ours to conquer." My fists clenched tighter. "And remember, Ramjet, no ground pounder is to enter our city." My lips tilted into a humourless smirk, and I glared at the approaching Autobot armada, a malicious sense of glee tickling my spark. "We are _not_ taking prisoners."

"Affirmative, Sire." Ramjet made a full bow, wings fanning out to the side. "All hail Prince Starscream!" He announced as he leapt off from my flight deck, and transformed into jet mode, speeding into the distance. The cloak made flapping noises against his frame as he flew away, undoubtedly to meet the other generals. I watched him until his form became blurred behind the rain before turning around, heading to return to my tower.

I needed to make an address to my city, to my army and my civilians, which meant I needed to be equipped with my null rays even though it was unlikely for me to enter the battle myself.

Tossing the wet, disgusting cloak to the guard, I made my way to my recharge chambers. "Where the slag is Skywarp?" I barked out, annoyed at his lacking presence by my left wing.

"Hold on, Star." Thundercracker soothed, "Let me comm. him."

A few kliks passed, and my blue trine mate still had not offered explanation. Irritated with all the waiting, I sent him a pointed glance as we rounded a corner.

"Well? What's his problem?!"

"He's—…well…" Thundercracker gave me a troubled look, "Let's switch to our trine link."

Huffing, I activated the link.

:_Where in the pits are you?!_:

:_I'm in Kaon! What's wrong now? This cycle is my Decepticon cycle, remember?_: Skywarp replied, voice at leisure.

It was fragging me off.

:_It's now your Vos cycle. Get your aft back in my tower!_:

:_As I'd already told TC, I would _love_ to return and serve your glitchy little princely self, but I can't._: Skywarp drawled, and I growled.

:_Why the frag not?!_:

:_Megatron's giving a speech to the new recruits, and I'm right beside him as a representative of Vos,_: Skywarp sounded downright smug, :_So you can see why I can't just leave._:

My wings began to shake, and I felt my fuel lines lit aflame with anger.

:_A speech?! …A _speech_?!_: I shrieked into our comm.-line. :_Vos is under attack, you slagging imbecile! And all you can think of doing is sitting on your pompous aft flapping your wings at a bunch of stupid ground pounders?!_:

Thundercracker flinched beside me, and rubbed his audials.

:_Wait, Vos is what?_: Skywarp tried to ask, but I cut in before he could continue.

:_And why in the pits are _you_ the representative of Vos? What slag are you representing? Processor malfunctions in fliers?! _Frag_!_: I swore into our comm. link. :_Tell that Megatron he can stuff his speech up his tailpipe, and get your aft back in my tower!_:

:_Megatron doesn't have a tailpipe…_: Skywarp dared to mumble.

:_Skywarp!_: I screeched, and Thundercracker hastily interrupted before I could short his auditory receptors.

:_When do you think you can return, Skywarp?_:

:_I—I really don't know. Megatron just started talking._:

:_Frag his speech!_: I stomped down the corridor, wings jerking on my back.

:_Not helping, Star,_: Thundercracker chided gently, and gave my lower wing edges a small rub, which I only begrudgingly allowed after sending him a glare. :_…Besides,_:He frowned, :_Skywarp can't really leave without alerting Megatron that something urgent is happening at Vos, and you don't want Megatron to know, correct?_:

Slag, Thundercracker was right.

I wanted to shoot a grounder.

:_I need my full trine to address my city, which has to happen soon, _before_ the Strikers start blasting Autobot hovercrafts out of the sky!_: I must have worn an extremely ugly expression on my faceplate, because all of the guards looked nervous as I walked past them. :_Video transmission to all Vosian citizens will start in exactly twelve breems, and you'd better be in my recharge chambers before then, Skywarp!_:

:_Why can't Megatron know about the Autobots attacking Vos?_: Skywarp asked with an incredulous tone, :_Besides,_ _I _want_ to go back, Star, but you're not letting me, yet you're making me. So what the frag do you want me to do?_:

:_Figure that out yourself! I have more important things to worry about._: I shot back. :_Starscream, out._:

I severed my connection to comm., and punched in the pass-code as soon as I could reach the keypad beside my recharge chamber doors. With a beep, the key pad flashed green. The doors slid open, and I strode in, heading straight for my personal laboratory. Ever since my trine mates had become aware of my labs, I'd started storing our null rays there. Impatient and pressed for time, I hopped down the flight of stairs before the opening sequence even completed, and grabbed the compact cannons.

"Polish these first. Put yours on when you're done." I threw all three pairs at Thundercracker as I dashed out of my lab, tapping in the closing and locking sequence. Entering my shower chambers next, I sifted through my many cans of wax, and grumbled in irritation before finally spotting the one I was looking for. It was made for quick application, coupled with an extraordinary shine that smoothed out all imperfections, even tiny scratches. Pleased, I grabbed a clean polishing cloth along the way, and left the shower room.

Hopping onto my berth, I popped the can open, and started rubbing at my peds. Silent kliks went by. I looked up, and only then did I notice Thundercracker simply standing there, holding the null rays and staring at me with widened optics.

"_What_?" I snapped, jolting him out of his gaping.

"…Starscream…" He frowned in confusion, "What are you doing?"

My intakes made a loud hiss of annoyance.

"What does it _look_ like I'm doing? I'm giving myself a wax!"

"…_Why_…?" My blue trine mate's frown deepened, and I would have thrown the can at him if I did not need it so much.

"Why do you _think_? I can't address my city looking duller than a ground pounder's aft, TC!" With a huff, I moved onto my thighs, and cursed at a stubborn spot that refused to go away.

Thundercracker only stared a moment longer before shaking his helm and coming to sit beside me. He started to polish the null rays, and an anxious silence settled between us. By the time Skywarp teleported into my recharge chamber, I had already finished, and was in the process of checking for any uneven application on my frame. "Whoa, Screamer," The purple idiot took one look at me, and shuttered his optics, "Any shinier you'd blind a mech."

"Shut up, you dolt." I gave him a brief glare, "What did you end up telling Megatron?"

"Aside from how you're a high-maintenance little fragger?" He grinned at me, and I sneered.

"I don't appreciate humour right now, Skywarp." I warned as I snatched my null rays from Thundercracker.

"What? No harm in kidding around, is there?" Skywarp laughed a little before sauntering over. He flopped down onto my berth with a sloppy shrug. "I just told him it was a Seeker thing and teleported away before he could ask any questions, so relax."

"Relax? _Relax_?!" I paused in attaching my cannons and gave him a long, hard look. "Our city's being attacked! What part of that can I relax about?!"

"The part where we kick Autobot afts?" Skywarp replied nonchalantly, lifting up a brow ridge.

For a long moment, I only stared at him, speechless. He tilted his helm to the side, and flashed me another grin. I eventually remembered that I was supposed to be mad at him, so I scowled and turned away, clipping my null rays in place. As much as I hated to admit it, Skywarp was right. Why was I so frantic when I knew the Autobots could not win? They might have snuck in through the sewers, but they sure as the pits could not send their entire army in that way. My military was strong. Vosian weaponry was at the pinnacle of precision and lethality. What was I worried about?

Vents spluttering with a deep sigh, I grabbed Skywarp's null rays from Thundercracker and threw them at the purple idiot. "Just put these on."

Skywarp caught his null rays, and gave them a once-over.

"Aww slag, they're brighter than I am!" He made a face.

"A lot of things are brighter than you are, Skywarp." I scoffed.

"What are you-…Hey!" Skywarp huffed, and I smirked in superiority. However, I did not dwell on it. There were more suitable times to snicker at my purple trine mate's expense.

"Enough idiocy. Put on your null rays." I got up from my berth as I instructed. Standing tall, my wings stretched to their full span, "I have a city to address."

Skywarp grumbled, but did as he was told.

As soon as my trine mates got ready, we went on our way to the main conference room of my tower, where the largest video monitor was. The transmission system had already been activated by the staff, settings tuned to a city-wide broadcast. The screen flickered on as soon as we arrived. Finding my designated spot, I tilted my helm back, and checked on my trine mates just to make sure they were in place as well.

Thundercracker smiled, signaling that he was ready, while Skywarp only nodded, standing up straighter. They stood still and in attention by my sides, flanking my wings in standard formation. Satisfied, I returned to the monitor, and tapped the record button. A light blinked at the bottom of the screen. It flashed several times, and became still. The transmission was in progress. I took a cycle of air through my intakes, and began:

"Citizens of Vos," I spoke with confidence, syllable clear and voice firm, "Seekers, Stealth Jets, Fighter Jets, Strikers, Cargo Shuttles, Space Shuttles," I addressed every frame type, from the smallest to the largest, "Proud fliers of Cybertron," I paused for a klik, and dipped my helm in slight humility, "…The wind that carries my wings.

"Our planet is on the verge of a break-through. Our world is changing. The old way is no longer efficient in bringing happiness and prosperity to our society. The old way _must be renewed_." I clenched my fists. "Change is inevitable. A new era is upon us, an era where fliers reign supreme over the sky above every city on Cybertron!" I beamed into the camera, holding the note of our pending victory. "…However," My expression slowly soured, voice lowering to a growl, "There are still those who continue to cling onto the dwindling embers of the already dying Golden Age. Pathetic fools – _weaklings_," I narrowed my optics, "Who have no place in the _New Age_ Cybertron is long overdue for.

"The Autobot Senators have issued an attack on our home, our glorious city of Vos. They cower in their capital, hiding behind their accumulated greed and filth while their soldiers crawl through our sewers in attempts to sneak up on us. It is…with absolute sorrow that I admit they have partially succeeded," I bowed in apology, helm lowering. "I did not expect these dirty ground pounders to sink as low as they have," I scowled, gritting my dentae. "However," My optics flashed, and I straightened, wings stretching upward, "They will _not_ catch us off guard again." I promised my fliers, schooling my expression back to that of determination.

"War is upon us, but fear not: we are ready." I took a step forward, and held my fist before me, fingers digging tighter into my palm. "Our soldiers are fast and strong. Our weapons aimed and ready at all those who'd dare attempt invading our city. Our military prowess is immeasurable. Our technology remains supreme. Our strength and resilience are unmatched." My wings gave a sharp flick on my back, rising ever higher.

"We _fight_," I peered into the camera, gaze bright and unyielding while my spark flared inside my spark chamber, "For Cybertron, for righteousness, for Vos," Pausing, I smiled.

"For_ us._"

I allowed time for my words to fully sink in before I continued my speech.

"As your ruling monarch of our grand, magnificent city, I, Starscream, swear to you," I looked straight into the recording lens, "As your Crown Prince, I will keep our city safe from Autobot tyranny."

My voice echoed in the conference chamber, their weight a simmering tinge in the air.

"My fliers, my citizens," I opened my arms wide to the side, and curled my hands into tight fists, optics narrowing:

"_We will prevail._"

With a comm. command, the recording session ended. I slowly lowered my arms, and they hung at my sides, dangling limply. Heaving a deep sigh through my vents, I took a moment just to give my wings a stretch before turning to my trine mates.

"Now that's done, let's go to the highest flight deck. I need a good vantage point to keep visual track of my city."

I led my trine mates to the top of my tower, and took a cloak from one of the guards. Throwing it on, I walked out into the rain, and stood at the end of the deck. I surveyed my city. The west quadrant remained the most active. I could vaguely see interior guards helping the medics with rescuing civilians from the fallen towers, and the search lights used by patrols were still scanning the water for invaders.

The hovercrafts were getting closer. Their numbers were startling. I could not see much beyond the first line of ships, as everything beyond that was still a blur of shadows. There could have been more ships, or there could have not. I could only guess at the number of soldiers the Autobots had sent to their deactivation.

:_Stormstrike, report._: I pinged my border control officer and Striker general.

:_All hail Prince Starscream,_: Stormstrike replied quickly, :_Autobot hovercrafts have been spotted in all direction, surrounding our city. They still have not made any attempts to explain their presence, despite our numerous requests at establishing contact. Their intention, however, is clear. The estimated number of hovercrafts is approximately in the range of one hundred and fifty to two, attached vehicles unknown. The scouting Stealth Jets have yet reported any Autobots on the ground, so it is safe to assume all soldiers are currently in the crafts themselves. We are ready for retaliation upon receiving your order, Sire._:

:_Good,_: I peered through the rain at the Autobot ships. :_How long until they reach our defense network?_:

:_Countdown initiated – Autobots approaching primary proximity in one point three-four breems, your Highness._:

:_Status of missile launchers?_:

:_All exterior weapon systems have been activated, Sire._:

:_Very well. Alert all Striker teams to be on station and ready to take off._: I glared at the hovercrafts. :_As foolish as the Autobots are, they will not attack our city without putting up coordinate-scramblers of some design to deflect long-range artilleries, which means sending in our fliers for close air combat is inevitable._:

:_Affirmative, Sire. Striker teams have already been stationed at take-off decks of the outer labyrinth wall. The force-field deflection system has also been fully activated to keep all gunfire from breaching our border._:

Pleased with Stormstrike's efficiency, I allowed a smirk to appear on my faceplate.

:_Very good, Stormstrike. We will wait for the Autobots to trigger our missiles first. No need to fly out if they truly are idiots._:

:_Affirmative, Sire._:

:_Keep our comm.-line open. I want to know every update._:

:_Affirmative, your Highness._:

I kept close optics on the hovercrafts. They have yet made any move aside from slowly advancing on my city. I could hear the faint clicks of Stormstrike's countdown as the crafts floated closer, and sent out a chortle of a huff through my vents. Did these Autobots honestly think such slow-moving slagheaps could pose a challenge for my fliers?

:_Ten kliks to primary proximity, Sire._

:_…Five._

:_Four._

:_Three._

:_Two._

:_One._

:_Contact._:

Deafening roars erupted from the outer perimeter of my city. The ground shook, booming vibrations muffled by the rain. Bursts of light brightened the sky as missiles shot upward, piercing through the air toward the Autobot ships. However, before they could hit the hovercrafts, they veered off course, crashing into the ground. Just as I expected, the Autobots had scramblers. Large craters appeared as the missiles exploded upon contact with Cybertron's surface, and I made an annoyed hum.

I had liked the surrounding terrain of Vos without craters.

:_Missiles are ineffective, Sire._:

:_I see it. Deploy Striker teams._:

:_Affirmative, your Majesty._:

A low, groaning sound answered my command, heralding the first opening of heavy gates in vorns. The outer shell of the labyrinth wall lifted, and, against the lingering light of missile explosions, I could see the shapes of my Strikers shooting off in formation into the distance. Strikers were not the fastest of fliers, but they were maneuverable and sturdy. They carried some of the heaviest weaponry on their wings, ones that made a wonderful mess of things.

I watched them fly off, and waited with bated breath for the first firework.

It happened on my right, a sudden flare of bright light and flames on one of the Autobot hovercrafts. The stuttering moan of an engine reached my audials, and immediately, the hovercraft began to lose altitude. More explosions dotted the horizon, and the Autobots began to fight back, drawing weapons from their ships.

"Oooo, pretty!" Skywarp commented, and I glanced at him with a brow-ridge raised. His optics shined, and he wore a big grin on his faceplate. "Can I go, Star? Can I go?" He bounced on his peds, and I scrunched my nose bridge at his immature behaviour.

"No, Skywarp, and stop hopping around like a sparkling!" I barked at him before turning back to watch the battle. So far, only two hovercrafts seemed to be having troubles keeping afloat. The Autobots were still advancing. It would seem that they were speeding up. Feeling antsy, were they?

:_Report, Stormstrike._: I sent out an impatient ping.

:_Affirmative, your Highness,_: Stormstrike responded with haste, :_The hovercrafts have thick armour. The Striker teams are currently trying to penetrate it to expose inner components._:

:_What of the Autobots?_:

:_They've engaged their cannons, and sniper compartments have been opened. There has been no casualty so far, though there have been six injury reports._:

Lucky shots, no doubt. I crossed my arms over my chassis, and waited impatiently for more hovercrafts to fall.

There was a sudden string of explosions across the sky, a ribbon of fire. My wings jerked. My frame tensed. What the slag was that? Nothing Vosian could have done such a spectacle, but the Autobots did not own anything that could have—

:_…Sire,_: Stormstrike's voice, heavy with shock, interrupted my musing.:_Striker team three has been brought down._:

I felt my optics widen.

:_What?_: I asked disbelievingly, :_Brought down? The entire team?_:

:_Affirmative._: Stormstrike replied, tone tight.

What in the pits…? How could an _entire team_ of my Strikers be brought down at once?!

:_Stormstrike, talk to me!_:

:_Apologies, Sire._: Stormstrike paused, during which I shifted anxiously on my peds. His voice was lower than usual when he resumed speaking, his words more strained. :_Striker team three has fallen to the ground, your Highness._: He reported,:_Two casualties upon impact. All remaining members have lost ability for flight. Their wings…have been disabled._:

:_Wings _disabled_?_: I scowled, irritation sweeping over my spark, :_What does that _mean_, Stormstrike? _How_ did it _happen_?!_:

:_Critical damage, Sire. Cause of such injury is unknown at current time. There was a scattering discharge. That was all I saw. Investigation is ongoing. Streaming video analysis._:

Stormstrike stopped. For several kliks, our comm. connection was dead silent. Slowly, the explanation came trickling in. My general began to describe what he'd seen, and, to my growing alarm, he sounded…unsure.

:_…Your Highness, the discharge came from a…platform, on top of the hovercraft. Mounted on the platform is a barrel-like structure._:

I gnawed on my lips.

:_We are unable to match it with any known Autobot weaponry, Sire._ _It seems to be a launcher…with a cannon-like barrel, connected to a rectangular base. New reports have come in. Some suggest that this is perhaps new weaponry from th—_Slag!:

Another string of explosions slashed across the sky. My intakes hitched. My wings shook. I could only watch, optics wide and fists trembling by my sides.

"What the frag…?!" I heard Skywarp exhale an exclamation from my left. I knew he was asking me what was happening, but I could not afford to pay him attention.

:_Striker teams five and seven are down, Sire! Whatever the pit those things are, Strikers Jets are incapable of maneuvering around them! Permission to discard heavy weaponry, your Highness! Perhaps a lighter weight can—_:

Fire, like lightning, sliced across the horizon. It was almost beautiful, explosions bleeding into each other, flashing lines in the sky. I could see the battered forms of my Strikers falling, leaving a burning trail as they dropped behind the labyrinth walls. My vents stuttered when they disappeared from view, the impacting thud of their crash landing swallowed by cannon fire.

:_Teams two, six, and eight are down, your Highness!_:

"Star…?" Thundercracker called out. His soft inquiry wavered.

My fingertips dug into my palms.

:How_ are the Autobots bringing down _entire teams_ of my Strikers?!_: I shouted into my comm., dentae gritted. :How_, Stormstrike?!_:

:_Results of visual analysis have just arrived, Sire._: Stormstrike answered without missing a beat. :_The scattering discharge appears to be a cloud of small bombs, possibly with scouting abilities. Upon contact with one flier, the bombs find the others, targeting specifically for the wings. I've never seen anything like it._:

My spark froze. I stared out at the battle far away from my tower, processors stunned to blank.

:_…Your Majesty?_: Stormstrike hesitantly prompted after a lengthy silence over our line. :_Sire? Do you receive?_: He sent me another ping. :_…Prince Starscream?_:

…Firechaser…

…The wounds on Firechaser's wings.

I could see them, hideous lacerations blistering over the once smooth plating of what every member of Firechaser's family unit had been so proud of. A Seeker sparked from a Space Shuttle gene pool, everyone had been so pleasantly surprised. Nightfire had held Firechaser in his arms, and he had laughed, for the first time since Skyfire's deactivation.

Firechaser was special, a Seeker with Space Shuttle origins. The Autobots had captured him, and experimented on him, running test after test on his torn, battered frame. They had sampled his genetic coding, one that contained the schematics for both the smallest and the largest fliers of Cybertron. The Autobots were developing anti-flight weaponry on Firechaser, and now, I knew:

They had succeeded.

:_Half of Striker teams have been brought down, Sire! The Autobot hovercrafts are entering secondary proximity to Vos. Requesting clearance for Fighter Jet deployment!_: Stormstrike's voice cut through my thoughts, loud and rushed in my audials. I jolted, optics rebooting.

:_Clearance granted, Stormstrike,_: I ran a deep cycle of air through my system, and shook my helm clear. :_Bring in Bladeflight._:

:_Affirmative, Sire. Comm.-frequency forwarded._:

:_Bladeflight reporting. All hail Prince Starscream._: Bladeflight's voice came through the link, slightly agitated but firm.

:_Status?_: I tossed all formalities aside, and asked.

:_Primary Fighter teams are in position for take off, Sire. Secondary teams on standby._:

:_Good, take off immediately, and watch out for those Primus-damned scatter bombs._: I narrowed my optics, and cursed the ground pounders in my processors. In the distance, another wave of my fliers took off. Fighter Jets swerved and flipped in the air, dodging the Autobots' aim with ease. They shot at the engines, left exposed by the Strikers' previous attack, and several hovercrafts were hit, falling from the sky, their descent languid and slow amidst an ocean of fire.

:_Video surveillance spots ground pounders leaping out of their hovercrafts, Sire._: Stormstrike informed me immediately.

:_Jumping from such altitude? They're going to crush their peds._: I brushed the matter aside, :_Leave them to their deactivation, and concentrate on bringing down the other hovercrafts._:

:_Affirmative, Sire._: Bladeflight replied alongside Stormstrike.

The Autobots were closer. The massive forms of their floating ships were dark shadows that loomed from the flames, inching toward my city's labyrinth wall. I could hear explosions from all direction, the firing of cannons and sniper rifles adding to the thunderous roar of noise. The Fighter Jets sang as they soared in the air, weaving between the laser fire and blasts. More hovercrafts were brought down, but many remained airborne, though their peeling armour left many vital components exposed.

:_Where's Ramjet?_: I broke the silence of our comm.-line while both generals were concentrating on their troops. :_The protective shells have weakened enough to send in lighter frame-types._:

:_Forwarding Ramjet, your Highness._: Stormstrike responded instantly, and another comm.-link aligned to our frequency.

:_Ramjet reporting. Hail._:

I scowled.

:_Can't you at least address me properly, you arrogant aft-helm?_: I bit out, :_Just who are you hailing?_:

:_Who else but you, my Prince?_:

I could practically hear Ramjet's infuriating grin taking over his faceplate. It annoyed me, but I did not berate him further. If he had the time to be a slagger, then the battle must have been turning in our favour.

: _Prepare to dispatch secondary Fighter teams and Conehead Seekers._: Ignoring Ramjet's response, I instructed my generals as whole. :_I don't care what strategy you use, bring down the hovercrafts at all costs, leave none flight-capable._:

:_Affirmative, your Highness,_: Bladeflight answered, :_Secondary Fighter teams readying for take off. Bladeflight requesting permission to participate, Sire._:

:_Granted._:

:_All Coneheads in position. Ramjet also requesting participation, oh glorious Princeship._:

:_Don't get too cocky._: I warned, but did not negate his request.

:_Hovercrafts approaching critical proximity._: Stormstrike reported.

:_Dispatch all teams on station._: I immediately instructed. :_No Autobot ship will touch my city's labyrinth wall!_:

:_Affirmative._: They all answered, and I watched as more jets shot off into the air.

"Hey! That's Ramjet with his fliers!" Skywarp's voice caught my attention, and I turned around. He was pointing toward the east. "If he's out flying, does that mean I get to join in soon?" He swirled his helm around, and his optics shimmered, hopeful and expectant.

"This isn't a game, Skywarp," I frowned, pursing my lips. "We're not breaking into some Autobot prison. We're protecting our home." I replied with a dry voice, giving him a hard stare.

"That's just more reason for me to join!" Skywarp spoke as though stating the obvious.

"For Primus's sakes, Skywarp, Strikers were brought down!" I sneered at him, irate and somewhat incredulous, "They won't be rescued until the entire battle is over, and all you can think about is having fun?"

"That's the point, Star!" He retorted heatedly, "Revenge!"

Before I could smack him on the helm and give him a piece of my processors on just how much I appreciated his immaturity, a cacophony of explosions detonated all around my city. A little startled, I looked to the perimeter, and, with dawning elation, realized that it had come from dozens of hovercrafts were brought down. Flames and smoke spewed out from the bulky aircrafts, and they crashed with much dramatics as they hit Cybertron's surface. Metal walls crumbled. Support struts snapped apart. Groaning shrieks sliced through the noise of battle, sharp and piercing as the ships collapsed on itself upon impact. The sheer volume of their demise left me speechless and amazed, watching the proceedings with round, delighted optics.

:_Status, Stormstrike?_: I hastily asked, impatient for good news.

:_Currently receiving data from report stations on city perimeter, your Highness. Please wait for a brief moment._: Stormstrike went silent for a few kliks. :_Total hovercraft count – one hundred and sixty-two. Fifty-six fully functional, twenty-seven with partial damage, twenty-nine dropping in altitude, fifty with complete engine failure._:

Any satisfaction I might have felt at seeing the Autobot hovercrafts falling to their doom evaporated in an instance. I spat out a curse. Fifty was not enough. Not nearly enough.

:_Starscream to Bladeflight and Ramjet,_: I sought for my generals, :_Double your efforts. You heard Stormstrike – there are still fifty-six hovercrafts without considerate damage. They must _not_ reach the labyrinth!_:

:_Affirmative, Sire!_: Bladeflight answered, voice tense but focused.

:_Don't worry, Star,_: Ramjet's growled response was next to reach my audials. :_I'll bring down the slaggers for you._:

:_Don't do anything stupid, Ramjet._: I felt a cold trickle of nervousness seep through my spark.

:_Risks are necessary for victory, Sire._:

:_Ramjet, what are you—_:

A holler of surprise jolted me out of my comm.:

"Holy slag! Look at Ramjet!" Skywarp bounced on his thrusters, and waved at both Thundercracker and I. Snapping around on my heels, I followed Skywarp's pointing index finger, and spotted Ramjet slicing through the open the air, shooting straight for a hovercraft. The white Seeker jet rolled and dived through a web of flying missiles and blasts, a team of Coneheads on his tailfins, just behind his trine mates. They protected their general, covering him as he made a wide arch around the ship. His intention was clear, nosecone dipped toward the exposed engines.

To my growing alarm, an Autobot sniper caught sight my Seekers, and aimed the strange contraption that had brought down several Striker teams straight at my general.

What the frag was Ramjet doing?!

:_Ramjet! Desist at once!_: I shouted into my comm., :_Are you fragging _crazy_?! You can't bring down an entire hovercraft all by yourself!_:

The Autobot followed Ramjet's flight path. The barrel of his strange weapon began to charge.

:_General Ramjet!_: Bladeflight cried out, having noticed the sniper as well, but it was too late. The Autobot fired, and I could only watch, spark frozen and optics widened, as a cloud of small, sparking projectiles slashed through the rain and wind, hurtling toward my Conehead general.

All Seekers around Ramjet dispersed in a single klik. Ramjet himself was a surge of speed as he flipped in the air, left wing barely avoiding the first group of projectiles. However, to my utter dismay, his sudden veer caused him to dash straight into another mist of glinting clutter.

:_Ramjet!_: I screamed into our line, and heard Thundercracker mirror my call beside me. I could only stare in absolute horror, stiff and motionless on my thrusters as the small, flashing objects raced toward Ramjet, as though attracted by a magnetic pull.

Barely a klik from contact, Ramjet wrenched himself sideways, and transformed. Rolling in base mode, he lashed out with his arm, and struck one of the projectiles right on the back of his fist. The projectile clanged against his plating, the impact too brief and forceful for it to latch onto the Conehead. It flew off course, and slammed against the wing of the hovercraft, yanking all other projectiles to shoot for the Autobot ship.

They clung onto the hovercraft's wing, and detonated. Thrown off balance, the craft tilted, and began to fall from the sky.

"…Whoa." Skywarp exclaimed after a short lapse of silence. "Primus-be-damned," He laughed a little, amazement clear in his quiet huffs, "That was kinda kick-aft!"

"More like impulsive and dangerous," Thundercracker heaved a sigh, giving his helm a slight shake "What if it didn't work and the bomb stuck on his arm?"

"Well, it _did_ work." Skywarp shrugged.

My wings twitched, and started to sag from their anxious perch. The joints in my frame slowly lost their tension, and a breath left my vents, soft and minutely wavering. As impressive as Ramjet's aerobatics were, they hardly spelled a shining example of military conduct. I did not want any hot-helmed, young recruits getting excited by the action and imitating his reckless behaviour.

:_Ramjet reporting success, your Highness._: As I expected, the slagger was more smug than a narcissist on highgrade.

:_No one _asked_ you to risk your wings, you fool! Do _not_ do that again!_: I hissed, rubbing my faceplate to dispel the lingering worry.

:_Aww, were you worried about me, prince Starscream?_: Ramjet spoke with a sickening coo, inciting a sneer from my faceplate. :_Perhaps as reward to commend me on my exceeding bravery in battle, you'll finally agree to my offers at being my eternal bondma—_:

:-_Your Highness!_: Stormstrike's sudden cry of shock instantly chilled our comm., :_Ground pounders! From the crashed hovercrafts!_:

:_What is it?_: I inquired with haste.

:_Some of them remain functioning, Sire, and they are—th-they are—_: Stormstrike's voice rose, gaining the gritted edge of rage, :_They are attacking our fallen soldiers!_:

My intakes hitched. My spark clenched in dread.

:_How's that possible…?!_: I could hardly believe what I was hearing. :_They should've perished with their hovercrafts!_:

:_It's possible that compartments deep inside the crafts are undamaged from the crash. The number of survivors appears to be slim, but they are assaulting our wounded!_:

:_I see them!_: Bladeflight cut in with a string of curses. :_The Strikers, they are being torn apart, Sire!_:

:_The sick fraggers!_: Ramjet's livid cry shook me to my core, and anger, pure, igniting fury, overtook my spark.

:_Shoot them down! Shoot them down!_: I bit down on my jaw-joints, and trembled so violently that my trine mates were rendered speechless, looking at me with great concern and slight apprehension. I completely evicted military protocol from my processors, until the only thought left was of my helpless, injured fliers, who were being mercilessly ripped apart by the hands of the Autobots.

:_All Seeker teams, prepare for take off!_: I commanded, glaring out at the flames with slitted optics.

:_Forgive my impudence, your Highness, but the Autobot hovercrafts are of more pressing concern._: Bladeflight spoke up in protest, and his line buzzed with static every time an explosion brightened the dark sky. :_We cannot afford to divide our forces at the current time. Any divergence of focus is disagreeable to the strategies currently utilized in defense of our city. If I may suggest, you Majesty, we could perhaps—_:

:-_I am _not_ asking for suggestions, Bladeflight!_: I cut him off, tone thin-edged and frustrated by his lack of compliance.

:_Sire, we cannot break protocol—_:

:_Don't tell me what I can and cannot do, general! Last time I checked, there was no protocol for senseless slaughter in our military code!_:

I knew I should not have shouted. I knew I should not be allowing emotion to dictate my orders. However, that was all I could do, unable to stand the thought of leaving those defenseless to the cruel whims of those who stood strong in their element.

:_Affirmative, Sire._: Bladeflight replied, respectful but curt. Before he even finished speaking, Ramjet was already free-falling downward, transforming back to jet-mode and cannons blazing.

:_Seekers in preparation, Sire._: Stormstrike reported after a somewhat awkward silence on our line.

:_Good. Keep me updated._: Putting the line aside for a moment, I turned to my trine mates.

"Thundercracker, Skywarp, the Seeker teams are readying to be dispatched, and I want you to join them, _only_ to bring down the hovercrafts, understood?" I sent Skywarp a pointed look, "Especially you, don't get distracted. The main objective is still grounding the ships. Let Bladeflight and Ramjet take care of the Autobots attacking the Strikers."

"Affirmative." Thundercracker answered with a small nod. Skywarp looked like he wanted to argue, probably so that he could join in on shooting down the grounders, but a nudge from our blue trine mate silenced him. He grumbled, but nodded as well.

"Good," I dipped my helm down once, "Teleport to border control main command center and meet with Stormstrike. He will inform you the details and assign you to teams. Now hurry, we don't have much time." Our optics held for a brief klik. "And by Primus, don't stray alone."

Without further delay, Skywarp grabbed Thundercracker, and they both disappeared in a puff of purple smoke. Now by myself on my topmost flight deck, I looked out to my city, and took another sweep of the perimeter.

The Autobots were close to the labyrinth wall, but they have been significantly slowed down. Most of their hovercrafts were no longer floating in the sky, and the ones that remained were smoking in at least one place. The battle was still raging, but my civilians were safe, and for that, I allowed myself a cycle of air. Even if the Autobots were to try firing long-range projectiles, they would not succeed. The deflection force field was up, invisible but impenetrable. I could see my soldiers darting in and out of discharging blasts. More Autobot air-ships began to lose altitude, and my spark warmed a little, pride stroked brighter by emerging relief.

:_Stormstrike reporting, Sire._: The voice of my Striker-Jet general pulled me out of my musings.

:_Speak._:

:_I've assigned Royal Wing-Right Thundercracker and Wing-Left Skywarp to appropriate teams. We await your clearance for take off, your Highness._:

:_Granted._: I replied immediately, :_And keep me posted on the status of our troops._:

:_Affirmative, Sire._:

Another wave of jets left the outer perimeter wall, and more explosions wrecked havoc on the Autobot hovercrafts. I continued to watch the distant battle, and kept my optics keen for my trine mates. A ping sounded from my comm., alerting me of another pending comm.-request. I debated whether or not I should take it, since the battle was top priority, but, after deliberation, I decided to answer. After all, the matter must be important if it was being brought up to me now.

:_Make it quick. I haven't much time._: I pushed all formalities aside, wanting the matter dealt with.

:_Nightfire reporting, Sire. There's a situation at sector twenty-two of the western quadrant._:

Nightfire? I frowned, not expecting to hear from him. The Space Shuttle was not involved with the military, so there was no reason for him to be so far out in the city.

:_What are you doing all the way over there?_:

:_There seemed to a clogging problem with the drainage system under the labyrinth, so I was notified. However, I don't think that's the problem._: Nightfire spoke over the hissing static, voice urgent over the stuttering noise. :_I ran at least a dozen of scans. No abnormality came up at all. None of the sensors within the system can detect anything, but there's definitely something inside the pipes._:

I let out an annoyed huff, lips curling into a scowl.

:_I don't have the time right now to worry about clogged sewers, Nightfire! And what's with your comm.?_:

:_No, Star, you have to listen!_: Nightfire insisted, ignoring my question. :_Whatever that's clogging up the pipes is not supposed to be there, and it's dodging even the most sensitive of scanners. I think we should reopen drainage to full capacity, reroute the water, and check that pipe._:

:_Reopen the drainage system? Have you glitched?!_: I snapped, :_That's how the Autobots came into our city in the first place!_:

:_Yes, but—_:

:_That's enough! I don't have the time to bother with sewers when I have cannons blasting right outside my city's walls!_:

:_But Starscream—_:

:_Your Highness,_: Stormstrike's voice reached my audials, and I instantly put Nightfire on hold. :_Casualty count has just come in. Strikers Jets – sixty-two injured, fifteen deactivated; Fighter Jets – forty-six injured, twelve deactivated; Conehead Seekers – thirty-nine injured, fifteen deactivated; Seekers – nine injured, twenty-three deactivated._:

I winced, offlining my optics and taking in a hitched gasp.

:_Based on data received from report stations around the perimeter, all Autobot hovercrafts have been incapacitated._: Stormstrike continued on, professionalism replacing sentimentality. :_Most are dropping in altitude, but there are several that remain functional. May I suggest a next course of action, Sire?_:

:_Speak._: My voice was soft as I rubbed my faceplate and looked out to the distance, where my fliers were fighting and getting hurt. Every number weighed down my spark, but I pushed the throbbing aside for now. There will be time to mourn for my city's loss later. To see victory, I must keep my processors clear.

:_Our forces are divided at the moment, your Majesty. I understand your wish to protect our wounded, but the ground pounders attacking them will not be able to pass our labyrinth._: Another ping from Nightfire sounded, and, irritated, I pushed it aside.

:_Continue, Stormstrike._:

:_Affirmative, Sire. I suggest we do as General Bladeflight had suggested before: focus all firepower at bringing down the remainder of the Autobot hovercrafts. They have entered critical proximity, your Highness, which prioritizes them above all else._:

That might have been true, but even the slightest neglect would result in more deaths at the hands of the ground pounders. I pressed my lips together, and looked down at my city's towers. I needed to decide, fast. Either way, I did not have much time at all.

Nightfire sent me another ping, and I growled, shoving it off.

What in the pits was so urgent about a clogged sewer line?!

:_Prince Starscream?_: Stormstrike prompted. He was polite, but I knew my time was up.

:_You have my permission to proceed._: My wings quivered as I answered. I fought hard to not think about my injured soldiers, grounded and vulnerable. They had little chance of escaping merciless termination from Autobots, as they were few, faced by many. :_Starscream to Ramjet and Bladeflight_,: My fists shook as I addressed my generals, :_Focus all firepower on remaining hovercrafts._:

:_Affirmative, Sire._: Bladeflight replied, tone carrying little emotion. Ramjet swore, but he did not argue.

:_Be quick about it._: I could not help adding, and almost swung a fist when Nightfire sent me yet another ping, followed by two more.

:_What _is_ it, Nightfire!?_: I shouted, reopening my other comm.-line.

:_The sensors are picking up strange readings from the drainage pipe, Star!_: Nightfire sounded awfully anxious about that pipe. :_I don't know what the readings mean, but they're coming from whatever that's inside._:

Oh for Primus's sakes, why in the pits was he so panicky about the sewers?!

:_Nightfire—I don't have time for this slag! I'm fighting a war and all you want to do is pester me about a malfunctioning—_:

My fuel pump stopped.

The energon in my lines froze to ice, and my spark almost spluttered from existence as realization punched me straight in the gut.

:…_Nightfire…_: My voice began to shiver. :_Get out of there._:

:_…Star?_:

:_Get out of there, Primus-damn-it! Now!_: I screamed into the comm.-line, trembling so hard that the water on my cloak was shaken off, splattering onto the flight deck. :_Get out of there! Get everyone out of there!_:

:_S-Star, what are you—_:

:_For frag's sakes, Nightfire! Evacuate _now_! Evacuate! Get everyone—_:

Explosion.

Audial-splitting.

The comm.-line squealed in feedback, and I cried out, clutching the sides of my helm.

The sheer force of the sound alone was enough to throw my cloak flapping behind me as I shielded my faceplate from the onslaught of rain. A massive wave of invisible energy lashed out in all direction, and the resulting boom shattered all glass in my city. It was so loud that my comm.-link screeched into static, and I clutched my audials, dentae gritting in pain. I was almost blown off from the flight deck by the hurricane accompanying the aftershock. Through narrowed optics, I peered out at the perimeter, and saw the Autobot hovercrafts waver in the air, hulking forms mere flickers of shadow behind the blinding light.

The silence that followed was terrifying.

All gunfire ceased.

For a long moment, I was afraid to move, afraid to think, afraid to place my optics in the direction Nightfire had been.

My arms were shaking as I slowly lowered them. I turned, forcing my neck cables to tilt toward the western quadrant of my city. My intakes stuttered. My wings quivered. I finally gathered enough courage to face the outcome of such a blast, and looked out at sector twenty-two.

Destruction.

I looked, and all I could see was complete, utter destruction.

An entire block of my labyrinth was destroyed, leaving only a jagged canyon falling to flat ground littered with debris. The western quadrant of my city was in shambles, proud, tall towers reduced to crumbled walls and broken support beams. The rain water that had accumulated flowed out through the enormous hole, exposing shattered foundations upon which many homes were built. The epicenter of the explosion must have been under the labyrinth, but regardless, my city suffered extensively because of it.

Silence.

Flat, penetrating silence.

Raindrops hit my cloak.

They pattered.

I stared at the dark, deep gouge that had once been sector twenty-two, a bustling residential district destroyed within an instance. It no longer glowed, a gaping black hole surrounded by flickering towers, swallowing the dim luminosity of my city.

There was a loud, splitting churn as the Autobot hovercrafts righted themselves. The burn-littered ships slowly turned, and they faced my city, my now vulnerable city.

:_Prince Starscream!_: Stormstrike's frantic voice sputtered through the buzzing static, ringing in my audials, :_The deflection force field is down! We no longer have border protection! They're going to bomb the city! The Autobots are going to bomb the city!_:

The large hovercrafts groaned to a stop, still, like statues etched in the sky.

:_Sire!_: Stormstrike continued to shout, words breaking from the interference. :_The civilians must be evacuated! The civilians _must be_—_:

A piercing shriek from the sky.

It startled me, breaking me from my stunned stupor.

A missile, thin, sharp-tipped, and elegant, cut through the air. It glinted under the light from my towers, my bright, glowing towers, and glided, graceful, like a free-falling Seeker.

It fell into the eastern quadrant of my city.

Red.

A great burst of ugly red.

As if awakened from a nightmare, noise returned with a deafening scream. I gasped, choking on a horrified cry as civilian towers were engulfed in flames.

How could this have happened?

How did…the Autobot break into my city…?

This was impossible.

This could not have happened!

My city was impenetrable!

And where on Cybertron did the Autobots get a bomb powerful enough to blow out an entire block of my labyrinth?!

Stormstrike was still trying to get my attention, but all I could do was stand on my flight deck and stare. More missiles rained from the sky, disfiguring my beautiful city with fire and explosions. Screams filled the air. Fliers rushed out of their homes. Frightened, panicking civilians made a complete mess of things. The interior guards tried to get everything under control, but even they did not know what to do. After all, I had not instructed them.

Nightfire.

Oh Primus…

Nightfire—

Nightfire had been at sector twenty-two when the bomb went off!

Nightfire…

My Nightfire!

Oh Primus—...!

My fingers clenched around my arms. I curled inward, shivering and stunned. My knee joints threatened to buckle. I could not command them to stay strong.

How could this have happened?

This was not how the battle was supposed to end!

And Nightfire…

Oh Primus—

Nightfire!

He could not have…

He could not have been—…

A small, static-filled noise left my vocalizer. I could not recognize what it was. It was not a whimper, not a sob, not a cry, and not a scream.

What sound does one make upon sight of destruction of his city?

I was on the verge of collapse, frame trembling as terror drenched through every crevice of my circuitry.

I had been careless.

I had been a fool.

I had given consent to the opening of the drainage system without any consideration of its possible consequences.

How could I…have agreed to such a thing…?!

And now…

Look at what carelessness and a fool had led to.

I offlined my optics, and lowered my helm. I concentrated on the cycling of air through my intakes system, and blocked out all else around me. I thought only of calming the erratic flaring of my spark. I could not afford to panic. I was the Crown Prince of my city. My fliers depended on me.

I had no time to dwell on mourning my failures and shame.

:_Starscream to all interior guards,_: I accessed the general comm.-line, forcing even my voice, :_Initiate evacuation of civilians to northern quadrant of Vos. Upon completion, activate sectional deflection barrier. Ensure no civilian is to leave until instructed by me or another commanding officer. Deactivate all enemies on sight._:

Each quadrant of my city had its own force fields. It was not as strong or sturdy as the one surrounding Vos, but it would offer some protection.

:_Stormstrike._: I called for my Striker General.

:_Stormstrike reporting, Sire._:

:_Inform all Strikers Jets, including border patrol teams, to enter battle. Shoot down all missiles leaving Autobot hovercrafts. Ensure no further harm to civilian districts._:

:_Affirmative, your Highness._:

:_Bladeflight._:

:_Bladeflight reporting._:

:_Bring down the hovercrafts. That is your mission and your _only_ mission. You will _not_ prioritize anything else until all hovercrafts have been grounded, understood?_:

:_Affirmative, Sire!_:

:_Ramjet._:

:_I'm here, Star._:

:_Bring back the Seekers. Be stationed and ready for combat. The Autobots will undoubtedly send their troops in through the opening of the labyrinth, and I suspect them to carry explosives. You will deactivate them before they can inflict any more damage._:

:_Affirmative!_: Ramjet answered, tone strong and loud. :_All hail Prince Starscream!_:

From a distance, I heard his verbal call echo the one in our comm.. More fliers followed his example, hailing my designation as their battle cries.

A shaky smile lifted the corners of my lips.

That was right. I was my city's prince.

This was not the time for wishful thinking, nor the time for what-could-have-beens. This was the time for me to lead my fliers to battle, and make sure we win.

My wings fanned out, stretching to their full span.

I had sworn that my city will prevail.

Then it will.

Straightening into a firm stance, I narrowed my optics at the horizon, at the hovercrafts.

The Autobots dared to enter my city's walls? Fine. Let them come.

I glared at their ships with all the vehemence I could conjure, and stepped forward to the edge of my take off deck.

Come.

My fists clenched.

And Vos would be their tomb.

Leaping off the flight deck, I transformed, and flew high into the sky. The cloak made loud flapping sounds as it clung to my frame, and battered against my plating, irritating the sensors. It was uncomfortable, and it lessened my maneuverability. However, it offered adequate protection, and anything was better than the biting caress of acid rain.

Cursed weather. I would have scowled if I could, shooting upward until I had full view of my city.

Shifting back to base mode, I hovered, and turned in all direction, scanning for the status of Vos. The interior guards had already begun evacuating the civilians. Large crowds of fliers of all frame types hurried toward the northern quadrant, fearful but obedient. The Strikers were steering the Autobot missiles off-course, shooting them down if rerouting them were not an option. The number of hovercrafts still afloat was dwindling. My Seekers have returned, flying below me as they watched for ground pounders hiding in the shadows of my city's foundations.

I kept an audial on the conversation between Stormstrike, Bladeflight, and Ramjet. An observatory report from the Fighter alerted all of us of a grounder invasion from the west, and I swirled around just in time to spot the wave of Autobots making their way through the rubble. Upon Ramjet's order, all Seekers surged in its direction, cannons and compact missiles readied for combat. However, despite the concentrated might of my Seeker troops, I was worried, as there was a lot more ground pounders left alive than I had anticipated. I hissed out a curse, bitten words swept away by the howling wind and the pattering rain. Those damned Autobots just would not die!

Transforming back into jet-mode, I dived down at full speed, the piercing screech of my engines announcing my arrival. Righting my nosecone, I flipped with a sharp swerve, and began to circle my city. I shot past my civilians, a mere blur over their helms, and they looked up, wings perking higher. "Fliers of Vos, you must remain calm!" I shouted to be heard. "This is _not_ the end. We _will_ have victory at the end of this battle!"

Veering upward, I flew past the Strikers Jets.

"All hail our city!"

Circling the perimeter, I garnered the attention of the Fighter Jets with a series of swift barrel rolls.

"All hail aerial supremacy!"

One wing pointing downward, I pushed my speed, slashing open the curtain of rain with my bright, sleek form. Explosions brightened the sky, and created cascading, fiery sparks that fell in the air, dazzling ornaments to the pit fire ravaging my beautiful, proud towers.

"_All hail Vos!_"

My voice rang over my city.

We will win.

My spark clenched inside my chassis.

By Primus, we _must_ win.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes: <strong>Sewers: the bane of existence for all fortresses. But a city's got to drain out its rainwater, right? XD

Phew, what a relief! This chapter is _finally_ out. It took quite a bit of rewriting to get it ready for posting, since I had to make some changes so that everything made sense. The rest of the battle for Vos will be in the next chapter. Starscream will be joining the action, though it might not be in a way one would expect.

A few characters from one of the previous chapters will also be making reappearances. ;)

Once again, huge thanks and much gratitude to my reviewers: _6MissSparklez9_, _Random523_, _Koluno1986_, _Deathtomushrooms_, _supergirl95_, _PwnKage_, _Ashcola17_, _Devlinn Reiko_, _Suki-Angel91494_, _DemonFoxGirl1000_, _Krazed Jetformer_, _lildevchick_, _Starcee138_, _loverofmythology_, _Cloud Kitsune17_, _MalevolentMask_, _The-writing-Mew_, _Skylark Starflower_, _KrazyMusician_, _aki. vn_, _Seve-902_, _XLizardXQueenX_, _rj545_, and _jul_. Your reviews mean a lot, and they are huge motivators in helping me work on my story. Much love to you all!

Oh, and also: I'm a little unsure why this comes up, and if it's due to my slow updates, I'm really sorry. However, please do not stress yourself in thinking that I'm giving up on this story. I will never give up on this story. ;)

Let me know what you think? Hopefully, you weren't expecting this chapter to be on Vos, haha!

Reviews would be lovely. :/)


	16. XVI, ii

Disclaimer: Do not own Transformers.

**Special thanks **to _Sneefee_ for allowing me to use her beautiful artwork as the cover photo for "Insatiable"!

* * *

><p>XVI<p>

(ii)

The thick, black fume of melting metal and evaporating acid rainwater hit my olfactory receptors. Had I been in base mode, I would have grimaced. Spitting out curses of disgust, I tried my best to ignore the sour, putrid scent, and pointed my nosecone downward. The sheer heat rising from the western quadrant made quite a feat out of my descent.

The hot, ascending air irritated my intakes system. It blasted debris particles against the sensitive flight sensors in my wings. The currents were erratic. The wind howled. The heat below clashed with the cold from the sky, and their frantic, irregular surges of scorching and freezing air caused frustrating problems for the stupid cloak.

I slowed down, leveled, and began to circle the area. My Seeker troops were below me, flying in formation as I travelled above them by a few wingspans. The first line of ground pounders were drawing near, large cannons and rifles holstered on their shoulders. Many of them carried artillery weapons I had never seen before, rousing suspicion and wariness from my spark as I laid sight upon them.

Ramjet appeared around a tower, and hurried to fall in line with my flight path when he noticed me.

:_Prince Starscream,_: He sent me an inquiring comm., :_Are you sure it's wise for you to be here on site?_:

:_Where else am I supposed to be if not with my Seekers?_: I snapped back at him, annoyed with his pestering.

:_You are our Crown Prince, my liege. You should not place yourself in a position of danger._: Ramjet was persistent, giving his thrusters a boost of speed as he tailed me. :_Requesting permission to escort you back to your tower, Sire._: He came up closer, and the tip of his nosecone brushed against the air only Thundercracker could take.

:_I am not an inexperienced princeling, Ramjet. I will not cower._: A sneer entered my voice. :_And get your nosecone out of my trine mate's place!_:

Ramjet jolted, and immediately slowed out of Thundercracker's spot.

:_I'm not suggesting you are inexperienced or a coward, your Highness,_: Despite my reprimand, he continued to press, :_However, your presence will only hinder us._:

I growled in threat, but Ramjet did not take heed in the slightest.

:_Your safety is now my first and foremost priority, Sire,_: He said,:_which will distract me and my Seekers._:

My wing-joints tensed, and irritation flared from my spark.

:_Have you not _heard_ me, general?_: Whipping around with a daring flip, I threw Ramjet off my flight path. :_Your first and foremost priority is to slag the Autobots!_: I gritted, :_Stop challenging my authority and do as I say! I would _hate_ to repeat myself again._: With a snarled warning, I severed our line, and shot off deeper into the sector.

Ramjet must have been fried in the processors if he thought I could be brought down by stupid ground pounders. I was the fastest Seeker in all of Vos! I _refused_ to believe that the Autobots of all mechs could come up with something that could take flight away from me. Besides, I knew how much of a distraction I was to my soldiers, as most of them had never seen me this up close before. I did not plan on remaining here in the ruins. I was here to survey the damage, but also to find one missing Space Shuttle.

Nightfire's comm. had gone down, which could mean one of three things: his comm.-system had been damaged, he was in stasis-lock, or he was deactivated. I sincerely hoped the reason for his comm. silence was not the last. Thus far, I had yet spotted his dark, large frame. In fact, I barely saw any pair of wings sticking out from the rubble – something that greatly unnerved me. Many fliers lived here. They could not have all been buried, could they? The only explanation I could think of was that most of them had already torn themselves out and flown off. I prayed to Primus that that was the case, though the sinking, cold dread in my spark suspected otherwise.

There was a loud succession of cannon shots in the distance behind me. They were the firsts. The battle had begun. The Autobots had set peds into my city. My null rays itched to shoot, the urge fueled stronger by Ramjet's battle cry. However, I quickly dispelled it, and reminded myself that I was here for Nightfire. Doing my best to ignore the foul smelling air, I peered down, and tried to see through the smoke and the fire. I slowed almost to a full stop to aid my search, and transformed back into base mode, as hovering was an easier task in mech form.

I descended further, closer to ground level, but maintained a safe distance. The laboured whirrs of my cooling fans were a mere whisper against the crackling of flames, under which rumbled the toppling of towers. The heat was overwhelming. My internal temperature was on a steady rise. Coolant raced through my systems, but they did little to quell the humidity trapped between my plating and my cloak. My derma was slick with condensation, and the fabric stuck, irritating the sensors in my wings.

I scanned the surrounding area, and set up a systematic search with references to my city's ground-plan. I kept a good pace, optics keen as they glided over the rubble, and paid especially close attention to the flickering shadows. Acid rainwater still pooled in large puddles, but most of it had, thankfully, drained out of my city. This made looking for Nightfire a little easier. I let out a bitter huff. At least _some_ good came out of the labyrinth wall being destroyed.

A ping over my trine link momentarily took my attention. Aggravated, I paused in the air, and activated my comm..

:_What do you want?_: I answered, tone snappish.

:_Starscream, what are you doing here?_: Thundercracker came through, worry apparent even through the muffled noise of battle. :_Ramjet said you're on site._:

:_I'm looking for Nightfire!_: I replied with more bite than Thundercracker deserved, but I was too annoyed with my tattle-tell general to care. :_What are you doing comm.-ing me? Aren't you in battle?_:

:_Yes, but—_: Thundercracker abruptly cut off. There was an explosion, followed by an echoing buzz of static, before he came back on the line. :_Your presence is unnecessary. Return to your tower! We can't afford to—_: A grunt, :_-to have something happen to you!_:

:_If you don't start paying attention to what you're doing, we're going to lose _you_._: I tried to scold, but the sudden rise of concern from my spark was too strong to resist. My hands clenched, and the bottom of my spark chamber stung with pinpricks of cold. Thundercracker was stubborn. He refused to depart from comm., determined to convince me to return to my tower.

:_Where are you?_: He had to raise his voice to be heard over the gunfire,:_Send me your coordinates. I'm accompanying you back._:

My intakes skidded in surprise, and my wings jolted. :_You will do no such thing!_: I shot back in haste,:_And that is an order!_: Insubordination was a price we could not afford on the battlefield, and I had to dissuade my trine mate before he broke formation and made Ramjet one fragged off general. Thundercracker, despite his peace-loving tendencies, was a good soldier. Based on my brief glimpse of the Autobot ground forces alone, I knew my Seekers needed every pair of wings they could get. :_For pit's sakes, Thundercracker, I'm on the other side of the quadrant! I'll be fine! Get your processors back in the battle or I swear to Primus I'm going to demote you just so I can throw more authority on your aft!_:

:_Starscream—_:

:_My decision is final! Starscream, out._: I slammed our link shut, and ignored further pings from my blue trine mate. After a few kliks, more pings sounded, and I was pretty sure Skywarp was instructed to contact me. Intake spluttering from annoyance, I resumed my search, and paid no attention to any of the alerts. After a while, they died down.

I flew further into the sector, and dialed up the sensitivity in my flight sensors so I could pick up even the tiniest change in the air that could signal movement. It was difficult, as the cloak was a nuisance, and the currents were messy, but I needed every resource I had. Turning westward, I went over another block of ruins when a thin, high-pitched sound suddenly reached my audials. I instantly stilled, freezing in the sky, and tried to pinpoint the source of the sound, as it was not one I had been expecting to hear.

I could not distinguish what it was at first, and almost dismissed it as the wind when realization hit me like a smack in the processors. The sound was the sharp wailing of a distressed sparkling. The pitch and timber was very familiar as well. Throughout my vorns of existence, I've only had contact with a handful of sparklings, and this cry was very recent in my memory banks.

"Sunstorm…" I whispered, helm turned and optics wide toward the direction the sound was coming from. What was Sunstorm doing in the ruins? Why was he still here? What could possibly be plaguing the poor sparkling that would keep him at a battle-site instead of flying away with his creators?

I was torn.

On one wing, Nightfire was my only friend. He was one of the very few support pillars I still had, and I needed him online and functioning to continue fighting this war. I had promised myself since Skyfire's deactivation that I would protect the black Space Shuttle in place of his deceased sibling unit. It was all I could do, after all, with Skyfire's death being of my fault. I could not allow Nightfire to fall to the same fate, not when the cause, once again, was my own ignorance and stupidity.

On the other wing, Sunstorm was a terrified sparkling who had absolutely no chance of survival if he were, Primus forbid, found by the Autobots. Even worse than deactivation, what if he got kidnapped, and was taken back to Iacon? What then? I could not let a sparkling endure the same torture Firechaser was forced under. I did not know whether Sunstorm was with his creators or not, but judging by how much noise he was making, his creators were obviously unable to help him.

Cursing, I rubbed my faceplate, and hissed out an ex-vent. I could not decide. Each option weighed equally heavy on my spark. Taking a deep breath, I clenched my fists, and gritted my dentae. With a purely spontaneous impulse, I swirled around, and sped off toward Sunstorm without a single look back. Silently apologizing to Nightfire, I pressed down on the part of my spark loyal to the Space Shuttle. Nightfire was Chief Science Advisor of Vos. He would be the first to be saved, but the same could not be said of Sunstorm.

I hoped with my entire being that I was not making a terrible mistake.

"Sunstorm!" I called out as I flew, helm turning side to side as I scanned the ground with my optics. "Sunstorm! Where are you?" I changed my flight path several times, looking around every tower from all angles in search of the sparkling. As I shot past a half-demolished stub, movement yanked me into a skidding stop. To my right, at the foundation of my city, was Sunstorm, sitting beside a large piece of rubble.

I only recognized him from all the noise he was making. Slag me to the pits, I felt like averting my optics. What a paintjob the sparkling had gotten himself! His entire frame was bright orange bordering on the radiant yellow of a newborn sun, with only a few spots of white. Despite being covered in dust and filth, his plating shone, reflecting the light from the fire until he practically glowed.

His colours definitely matched his designation.

Shaking my helm clear of wandering thoughts, I tore my gaze from the sparkling, which was quite a difficult feat considering the fascination I had toward shiny things, and that Sunstorm stuck out like an orb amidst the gray of his surroundings with his optic-blinding colour scheme that—

I tore my gaze away from the sparkling, and only then did I notice a Seeker beside him, kneeling on the debris and shouting at something out of my view. I quickly recognized the Seeker as Sunstorm's carrier creator, Sunrift, who was also, funny enough now that I thought about it, orange and white. Breathy chuckles left my vocalizer, and I descended for landing. Sunstorm heard my thrusters, and his little helm jolted up, followed by his tiny arms that immediately reached toward me. He cried louder, making squealing trills, and his carrier visibly flinched at the sound. Optics wild and terrified, the Seeker flung his helm side to side. He looked for the reason behind his sparkling's change in demeanor, and his intakes hitched in stutters, fear flaring from his energy field.

"Sunrift," I addressed in a calm voice, saving him the trouble of becoming even more worked up than he already was, "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be taking your sparkling and flying to safety?"

"Y-Your Highness…" Sunrift turned around, and let out a shaky whisper as he gazed up at me. His faceplate was smudged in black grime, and coolant spilled from his wide, bright optics, making tracks in the filth. Most of his frame suffered burns, paintjob stripped to flakes that crumbled. One of his wings had snapped in half, the tipped portion dangling by mere cables, and energon oozed, beading and sliding down until it bled into the other wounds littered over his body.

As I came closer, I realized that he was trembling, the agony of his injuries undoubtedly made worse by the heavy acid rain. With a flinch in my wings, I grimaced, and wished that I had an extra cloak to spare.

Stepping onto the ground, I made my way toward them, and glanced down at Sunstorm. To my relief, the sparkling appeared to be mostly unharmed, despite being frightened and dirty. The finish on his plating has not been eaten away by the acidity in the rain, which meant he was wearing repellent wax. However, this was no justification. There was no reason for his being here in the ruins, and a wave of incredulous anger overwhelmed me as I turned my attention back to Sunrift, a heated glare aimed at the shivering Seeker.

"I asked you a question, Sunrift. What in the pits are you still doing _here_?! I issued an evacuation half a joor ago!" My wings jerked on my back as I approached them, stopping a few paces away. "For Primus's sakes, at least get your sparkling out of here!" I sneered, fingers curling into my palms. "The Autobots are coming, and they will not treat you any different from a soldier."

"Sire—…" Sunrift choked on a sob, and he wiped at his faceplate, making an even greater mess on his cheekplates, "I—I can't." He sniffed. "I-I can't—…Please…Please help—"

"-Help who? Sunstorm?" My sneer grew. "Sunstorm needs his creator to snap out of it and carry him to safety! Have you not heard what I said? Get out of here before—"

"-No! No, your Highness!" Sunrift pleaded, and shuffled aside, "N-Not for Sunstorm, but—but for—…P-_Please_!" He shifted, and a black and violet wing came into view, sticking out from a crevice between the rubble.

My optics widened.

"…Is that—"

"-It's Blazewing, Sire!" Sunrift cut me off with a wail, and his faceplate crumpled into desperation. "I've been trying to dig him out, b-but I—…I can't—…I can't!"

A sob made his vocalizer glitch, and he jerked his chin down, as if ashamed. With a wavering breath, he crawled back to the wing, knees scraping against the muddy ground. He wrapped his energon-soaked hands around the jagged edge of the debris, one of many, and started to pull, joints creaking under the strain. The tower fragment did not move at all, and a pained, hopeless cry pieced through the rumbling silence of the ruins, wrung out of a vocalizer scratched with static.

Sunrift collapsed forward, vents disturbing the dust. For a while, he only laid there, bent over the fallen wall with the spiny support struts. With a sudden intake, his helm snapped upward, and he clutched around the rubble, uncaring that the broken thorns sliced open the derma of his fingers. Wings quivering, he screamed, frame rattling in spasms as he yanked at the debris pinning down the sire of his sparkling.

The severed wingtip swung in the air. Cables snapped, and energon spurted from fuel lines, splattering into puddles of rainwater that sizzled. Pain stabbed into my spark. It shook me to the core. With an alarmed cry, I leapt forward, and fell to my knees, hands grappling around his wrists and ripping him away.

"No! No—!" He shrieked at the sky, coolant tears glittering beads washing down his cheekplates in torrents. He fought me, bucking in a mad struggle to free himself, to save his bond mate. My spark clenched in my spark chamber. It burned and stung. With a purely instinctual impulse, I let go of his hands, and I embraced him, tugging his wounded, dirty frame right against the pristine glass of my canopy.

"Stop it, Sunrift! Stop it!" I shouted. "Think of your sparkling! Think of Sunstorm!"

I held my Seeker in my arms, refusing to leave him no matter of his protests and resistance. My voice cut through the terrified wailing of the small, panicking sparkling beside me, and it echoed between the broken towers, fading amidst the hollowed walls. "You have to get out of here! Help is coming," I implored his reason. "Blazewing will be saved! But you have to get out of here. You have to get Sunstorm out of here!"

"No! _No!_" Sunrift yanked at my arms, clamped around his torso, and reached for the black and violet wing. "You don't understand! He's barely alive! _He's barely alive!_"

He cried.

"I can feel his spark failing! I can feel him slipping from me!"

His intakes laboured.

"I have to save him! _Please_! I can't just leave him here to die!"

Broken sobs over the spluttering of cooling fans. Sunrift shook his helm, and the frantic motions dispelled his tears, dropping from his chin. They hit the plating of my arms, and they seared hotter than acid raindrops, patters that slid down along the curve of my limbs. I could barely breathe, optics wide as I stared at the black and violet wing, one that was beginning to deplete in its colours.

Sunrift was losing touch with reality. He was overtaken by grief, driven to madness by the prospect of being severed from his mate. He was about to have his bond ripped out of his spark, and that thought alone was enough to turn any mech crazed with agony. Surviving a breaking bond was near impossible. If Blazewing were to deactivate, so would Sunrift. Sunstorm was about to lose his creators. That was inevitable – that much I knew, but still, I had bit down hard on my jaw-joints to stop the coolant from rising, swallowing the deep throb inside my chassis.

No sparkling should ever have to lose his creators.

Gritting my dentae, I offlined my optics, and tore my arms from Sunrift's frame. There was no point in dragging him away if Blazewing was on the verge of deactivation. Sunstorm needed to be saved. That was the only thing I could ensure. He would suffer when his connection to his creators crumbles to nothing, but he would live. I turned to reach for the sparkling. However, all joints in my frame froze when I realized just how quiet it had all of a sudden become.

Sunstorm had stopped crying. He was completely silent, staring behind me with wide, but curious optics. I felt a chill prickle over the neural network of my wings, and my intakes hitched to a full stop. There was an even, steady cycling of air coming from behind me. Not even my spark dared to shiver as my processors analyzed the sound.

The rumbling of cooling fans was too heavy to belong to a flier. The amount of time the air took to cycle was too long for even a Space Shuttle. The sheer size suggested by such clues overwhelmed my logic circuits with disbelief. For the love of Primus…I felt my spark freeze with dread. Just how large _was_ this ground pounder?

Sunstorm made a small whimper, and scooted closer toward me. Sunrift had yet noticed this new turn of events, continuing his efforts to dig out Blazewing. I clenched my hands into fists, and fought to keep the fear radiating from my spark in check.

How could I have missed such a large mech creeping up on me?

My fuel pump began to race, and I took in a deep cycle of air.

No matter.

My wing joints tightened.

I had to take him down.

A small whine was the only indication that my weapons system activated. My null rays onlined with barely a sound, and a charge began to build. Being this close, even a ground pounder could be a formidable opponent in speed. I knew I only had one chance to deactivate him, or, at the very least, deter him long enough to grab Sunstorm and make a fast retreat to the sky. Null rays reporting as ready, I ran an analysis through my flight sensors, and prepared to spring into action.

For several kliks, there was no movement amongst us aside from Sunrift's grappling at the large debris. My wing joints stiffened further, until my wings hiked up perpendicular to my back. I offlined my optics, and listened for any indication of motion from the ground pounder. I only had one shot. I must get him before he could ground me, or worse, capture Sunstorm.

The scraping shift of a heavy ped.

I leapt into action, swirling around on my thrusters and swinging up my arms, null rays whirring with a blast. I turned, faceplate in a vicious scowl, and fired, twin blasts searing through the air. My aim was high to compensate for the height of the grounder, aiming for the helm. However, even with my overestimation, my shots only hit stomach plating.

My intakes stuttered.

My optics widened.

My lips fell open as I slowly lifted my helm, and finally took a full look at the behemoth of a Cybertronian standing over me and my Seekers.

He was…big.

Unicron slag me, was he big.

I thought Megatron was big. I thought Sentinel Prime had been big. But this mech…he was a borderline joke! He was so massive that I couldn't even process any other visual information about him other than his sheer bulk, which loomed over me like a mountain. He did not let out anything other than a low grunt when he'd gained two scorch marks. The dark spots did not stand out at all, camouflaged by the many battle scars and wounds over his plating.

What the frag…? I gaped. My null ray blasts should have gone straight through his plating, yet they only left blackened indents, where energon started to ooze through.

My wings began to shake.

My fists lost their strength, and my arms began to droop.

Why was I repeatedly surprised by these ground pounders? Should I even assume I knew anything about them at all anymore?

Blue optics peered down at me, so bright they were almost white. The Autobot glared, pinning me still by the dismay flaring inside my spark. I needed to be in the air. That was the only chance I had at getting Sunstorm out of here. If taking this mech out required heavier weapons than my null rays, I was nothing short of thoroughly fragged if I were to become grounded.

With a hurried shake of helm, I jolted out of my stunned stupor. My intakes system reactivated with a loud gasp, and I instantly fixed my aim, pointing my compact cannons at his faceplate. I was half a klik from taking my shot when he pushed off his peds, a guttural roar splintering the silence. He charged toward me, the brunt force of his offensive shaking the ground beneath my thrusters.

A yelp sprung past my lips.

I panicked.

My arms jerked in fright, and my aim skewed, shots flying over his helm as he ducked.

"Frag—!" I swore, voice pitched to a high screech. It was drowned out, overcome by the deafening battle-cry wrung out from a worn, sparking vocalizer. A huge fist came barreling toward me. I did not have the time to dodge. It slammed against my helm, and there was a sickening crunch, followed by a piercing squeal from my audial unit.

The punch rattled my processors. I could not register pain. The left side of my helm dented inward, my audial completely crushed. I fell to the side, peds swept clean off the ground. I was vaguely aware of Sunrift shouting and Sunstorm screaming, but I was too disoriented to even consider a landing. I bounced on my back, and dropped to the ground. My frame slid across the rough, muddy surface, and my cockpit screeched against the friction until I finally came to a stop.

I coughed, the noise static-filled as my intakes tried to clear the dust that had entered my system. With trembling arms, I pushed myself up, movements sluggish while my processors reeled in spastic confusion. I shook my helm, and the first stab of pain drilled through my sensor net. Slag, it hurt. I almost dropped back to the ground. A small cry left my lips, and that was when I noticed the energon in my mouth. It felt slimy and disgusting. I groaned, and spat it out as soon as I managed to heave myself up onto my elbows, helm drooped.

My left audial had completely frizzed, giving me buzzing feedback that only added injury to the dent. Pushing the annoyance off for later, I tried to tug up my knees in attempts to get on all fours. A loud cry of alarm rang into my right audial. It took me a while to figure out what that meant. I looked to the side, only to see a ped hurtling into my faceplate.

The kick hit right against my jaw, the force shattering its structural support. I was flung off the ground, tumbling through the air and smacking down on my wings. Energon pooled in my mouth. I let out a gurgle, and could only turn to the side, faceplate in a grimace as the tangy, sticky liquid drooled out of my lips.

Warnings flashed on my HUD. There was damage to my equilibrium chip. A soft moan left my vocalizer. I could barely think through the thick haze of pain that shrouded over my central processing unit.

A large hand, with fat fingers, wrapped around my neck cables. It pulled me up, and squeezed around my fuel lines when I began to struggle. Despite the increasing pressure, I clawed at the hand, short bursts of noise laced in static leaving my vocalizer. My wings jerked, and I kicked my peds, making frantic attempts at freeing myself as I dangled helplessly in the air.

"…Do y-…you…not kn-know wh—…who I—I am...?!" I managed to croak out, optics narrowed and glaring at the ground pounder.

He did not answer.

My vision blurred. I could not read his expression.

"I—am…the C—rown Pr-Prince o—of Vos—!" I hissed, trying in vain to get him to release me. A common soldier was not allowed to bring harm to my person, such was the law. Based on military protocol, any Autobot that subdued and captured me must bring me, the ruler of my city-state, to the Senate to be put on trial.

The mech only squeezed tighter, and I offlined my optics, gritting my dentae in a pained keen.

"St—Sto—p—!" I attempted to shout, but my voice only came out as a whisper. The pressure against my neck cables rose to a potent ache, one so strong that my vocal components were starting to short. I clutched at the large hand, pulling at the fingers, and made sharp, cough-like protests. They roused a strange reaction from the mech: an odd stutter that I could not identify for several kliks.

The sound rippled inside the Autobot's massive chassis like rolling thunder. Only when he opened his mouth and threw back his helm did I realize that he was laughing, at _me_. Indignation seared my spark the same moment my optics reignited with a flash. I sneered regardless of how much the gesture hurt, and glared into the blue orbs in front of me.

"I'm not interested in taking prisoners, little princeling." An ugly voice left the pair of thin lip components, "The Senate gave very simple orders: Vos must be eradicated, along with all its inhabitants." He barked out a scoffing laugh. "I don't think they'll be very interested in hearing what you have to say."

My optics widened. My sneer dropped. Complete destruction of my city? Genocide?

My fingers dug into the relentless grip around my neck.

"N-Not…p—possi-ble…!" I hissed out. The Senators could not have been this mad.

"Those were the orders." The mech spoke airily, the toss-back of a shrug so casual that it made the situation all the more perverse. He grinned, and lifted his other hand, taking his sweet time to curl every single one of his grit-covered digits into his palm. My optics stretched wider, wings starting to shake as the large, hard fist clenched and pulled back to strike. "You have such a pretty faceplate, little princeling." He chuckled. "I'm gonna enjoy crushing it in my hands."

I was halfway into a horrified scream when a furious cry erupted from behind the grounder. Before either of us could so much as react, a frame crashed into the Autobot, the impact so sudden that the large mech stumbled forward. Arms latched onto the ground pounder's shoulders, and a snarling Seeker came into view. Sunrift grabbed at my aggressor's faceplate, and I could only watch with morbid fascination as he ripped out one of the glinting, blue optics.

Energon spurted, hot droplets splattering atop my parted lips. The grounder roared in pain, and instantly threw me down to grapple at Sunrift. I dropped to the ground, coughing and rubbing my bruised neck cables all the while gaping up at my Seeker. Sunrift proved to be quite a challenge for the Autobot. He slipped away from the large hands, and scratched at the ground pounder's pre-existing wounds, tearing at the derma to reveal glistening beads of energon.

"Sire!" Sunrift shouted, optics narrowed to slits as he sunk his fingers into an injury on the grounder's shoulder, "Get to safety! Save yourself. Save Sunstorm!"

"Wh-What about—…you?" I croaked out, resetting my vocalizer.

"I'm already a dead Seeker, your Highness." Sunrift's wet faceplate gleamed under the flames around us. "Blazewing's spark is kliks from extinguishing. So please—" He cried out as he was yanked off the ground pounder's back, "-S-Save yourself!" He fell, and his wings, his broken wings, scraped against the hard, unforgiving ground.

For a moment, he turned toward me. Our optics met, mine wide and stunned, his wet and bright. The filth on his faceplate disappeared, like the parting of rainclouds. The burns and grime cleared, and they were replaced by a glow that reminded me of my city's towers. Sunrift smiled, the gesture shimmering with warmth. Time slowed. The sound of battle faded. All I knew was that smile. It was dazzling. It was beautiful.

…Then it was gone, his helm crushed under a hard stomp by the heavy ped of the Autobot.

I could not move, spark seizing to a stop and fuel lines freezing cold. My processors stalled, and when my limbs finally shifted, it was on their own accord out of necessity alone. I lifted my null rays, and fired at the large mech as I scrambled up onto my thrusters. I shot at him, not sparing a single moment to stop the blasts while I ran for Sunstorm. The sparkling was staring at the helmless body of his carrier creator, coolant silently falling from his widened optics. He wore no expression, and his gaze was distant, a hollow dim that stretched deep. I paused only to scoop him up into my arms, and hugged him close to my cockpit. He felt so small, so fragile, and my spark clenched.

Shaking the feeling away, I readied for take off. This was not the time to mourn the loss of a life, no matter how affecting. I could not let Sunrift's sacrifice be in vain. I must save his sparkling. With a loud sputter, my thrusters activated. My peds left the ground. Wings spread out firmly by my sides, I soared into the air, reaching for the sky to safety.

The loud crackle of a weapon discharge whipped through the murmuring of the flames. It rang into my right audial, and a split klik later, pain exploded in my wings. It seared through my sensors, like thin blades of liquid fire. I screamed, and fell, the burn so overwhelming that my thrusters immediately gave. Urged by instinct, I rolled in the air, wrapping Sunstorm closer against my cockpit with my arms. His tiny fingers clung at the seams in my canopy as I smashed into the debris-littered ground, and my shriek drowned out his cries, the force jolting my already pained wings.

By sheer power of will alone, I pushed back the coolant threatening to blur my vision, and looked up. To my utter horror, there were several more ground pounders around me, and one of them held a cannon, its barrel emitting a trickle of lazy smoke. The mech that held it wore a large, pleased smirk. He whistled as he watched me, childlike glee wrinkling the energon-caked skin of his face.

I had never seen a cannon like that before. It must have been the newly developed anti-flight weaponry Stormstrike was telling me about. Offlining my optics, I hissed out curses. With a gritted cry, I heaved my frame up until I stood on my peds, and shakily raised one of my arms.

Rebooting my vision, I scanned my surroundings. There were close to a dozen ground pounders in my proximate, half of which regarded me with predatory looks that promised fatal harm. Where in the pits were my Seekers? _Why_ didn't anyone contact me about the Autobots making their way so far into my city?! I did not hear anything from any of my generals that—

Cold realization sank its claws into my spark.

I had…left the comm.-line.

I'd cut myself off from my generals and my trine.

I have been ignoring all pings trying to reach me since the argument with Thundercracker, and have isolated myself so I could concentrate on finding Nightfire, consequently blocking myself off from all attempts by my subordinates to reach me and update me on the battle.

I could not stop a helpless whine from leaving my lips. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_! How could I have been so utterly _stupid_?! Starscream, you fool! What in the pits were you _thinking_, overlooking something as vital as communication during battle?!

Whatever it was that had embedded itself into my wings gave another loud crackle, and pain drilled into my core. With a shrill cry, I fell to one knee, frame trembling as I fought to gather myself. My flight sensors were in agony, firing waves after waves of stabbing pain like shots to the spark. My vents huffed. My cooling fans stuttered. I was overheating, fuel pump thumping a frenzy while my processors reeled from the overstimulation in my wings. I could hardly focus enough to charge my null rays. This was not good, not good at all. I could no longer fly, but I had to get Sunstorm out of here.

Looking down at the small, shivering sparkling, hopelessness squeezed my spark until I could barely breathe. Should I appeal for sympathy from the Autobots to let Sunstorm go? I knew I was pretty enough to affect at least a few sparks. If I put on an enticing enough display, they might let Sunstorm go, and as soon as the Seekerlet was out of danger, I could slag them to my spark's content. Just the mere thought of putting myself up for viewing pleasure made my tank churn with disgust, but if doing so would give Sunstorm a chance to get away, I would do it. My lips fell open. Pleas were at the tip of my glossa. However, a thought, slashing through the haze of pain, halted my efforts altogether.

The Autobots were here to kill, not to conquer. Genocide did not leave out sparklings and younglings. Sunstorm would not be spared. I clutched the tiny sparkling closer against my chassis when he whimpered in fear. As much as I hated the thought of leaving him alone, there was only one option left.

"Sunstorm," I whispered, ignoring the tickling sensation of his coolant tears sliding down my canopy glass, "Sunstorm, you have to listen to me."

Sunstorm squirmed closer, and I knew I had his attention.

"Sunstorm, you must fly away." I pointed my null ray at one of the grounders that walked a little too close. "You must fly to the top towers, and find another flier, do you understand?"

Sunstorm made a small squeak, and lifted his helm, staring at me with confused, frightened optics.

"Sunstorm, we have no time. Do you understand what you must do?" I swore when another grounder took a step too close. "I can no longer take you. You must go alone."

Sunstorm, as I expected, made a fearful, aghast cry, and clung tighter unto my cockpit. He shook his helm, the desperate movement dispelling more tears, and his tiny wing-nubs quivered in obvious terror at the prospect of leaving the comfort of my arms.

"No, Sunstorm!" I clenched my dentae. "I can no longer take you to safety. You must leave at once while there's still a chance!" Fingers firm around his torso, I pried him away from my chassis. A sharp squeal of alarm sounded, and the small sparkling immediately started to bawl, fat tears rolling down his small faceplate as he struggled and reached toward me with tiny fingers. A jab of hurt stabbed my spark, and my resolve almost crumbled. However, another step from an approaching Autobot steeled it beyond breakable.

"You are a Seeker, Sunstorm." I tried to keep optic contact with the sparkling, only glancing at the ground pounders to keep sight of them at all time. "You are sparked to fly." I tried to reassure him with an encouraging smile even though it wavered, and spoke with a soft voice, "You will be fine."

Sunstorm looked back at me, optics frightful and large. However, he must have understood, lips quivering but thrusters activating. His little wings flicked as he started to float upward, slowly peeling away from my fingers. He hovered higher, yet he still appeared reluctant to leave, brow-ridges creasing in an expression I had no time to read.

I parted my lips to hurry him, but there was no time for even a single word as a thick arm suddenly shot out from behind me. A massive hand, blackened from blood and battle, unfurled its claw, and I watched with absolute horror as it reached for Sunstorm, fingers spreading to catch the tiny sparkling.

Without another thought, I grabbed the Seekerlet and flung him up in the air. With a loud cry, I lunged back, and my wings hit the chassis of a ground pounder. Pain blossomed anew like the combustion of flames, but I kept pushing, keeping the grounder back with a sneer and gritted dentae. Sunstorm tumbled several wingspans up into the air, but he was still hesitating, opting to float instead of flying away at full speed.

"What in the pits are you waiting for?!" I screamed in frustration. "Fly away, you idiot! Fly away!" A series of loud crackling sounded, followed by a rising whirr. I snapped my helm to the side, and my intakes seized at the sight of the Autobot aiming his strange contraption at Sunstorm, the barrel strumming in a charge

Without another thought, I whipped my optics back to the sparkling, and raised my null rays.

I shot. The blasts flew past the hovering Seekerlet. Sunstorm squeaked in fear, and his little mouth parted in shock as he stared down at me, optics widened in a teary gape.

"Go!" I continued to fire, missing him by a mere wingtip. "Get out of here!" I shouted, sending blast after blast after him. "_Go_, Primus-damn-it!" One of my shots surged right past his helm, and he squealed in fright, swirling around and hurtling straight for the sky. The Autobot's weapon continued to crackle, too slow in forming a blast, and I instantly changed my aim, pointing right at the arm.

I fired, catching him right at the elbow joint. He hollered in pain, but I was not allowed even a klik to celebrate success when the grounder behind me grabbed my compact cannons, and ripped them clean off my shoulders.

The sting was a mere throb compared to the agony from my wings, but regardless, I let out a yelp. Without my null rays, I was even more vulnerable. I tried to scramble away, but the grounder behind me grabbed me by a ped, and pulled. I flopped down onto my chassis, the fall inciting a pinched whine from my vocalizer. Every action jolted sparks of pain. Without Sunstorm to distract me, the burning of my injuries was returning with a vengeance.

"You little glitch!" A voice cut through the noise of distant battles. Rapid, heavy ped-falls, and the grounder on top of me was suddenly shoved off. A knee slammed on my back, pinning me down, and rough digits ripped through the protective cloak shielding my frame. Fingers bit into my wing, and loud wail left my vocalizer, wrung from my parted lips.

"You shot my fragging arm!" A bellow vibrated through my audials, accompanied by the heated huffs of labouring vents. The weight bore down, until my canopy glass squeaked in protest. The fingers dug deeper into the sensitive metal of my wing, and the pain intensified into a searing most unbearable. I cried out louder, the sound high and thin over the stuttering of my cooling fans.

"S-Stop—!" I managed to form through the rattling my frame. "Stop it!" I bucked against the Autobot straddling me, trying to throw him off, but to no avail. With a growl, he tightened his grip. There was nothing else I could do but gasp, optics unseeing and stretched, as he crushed the tip of my wing.

Agony shot through my core. I screamed, back arching as I clawed at the ground. However, my aggressor did not stop there. He held my wing by its crumbled tip, and started to _pull_.

I thrashed, pushing against his knee with my hands. My thrusters spluttered. My intakes hitched in bursts. My frame grew hot, and I offlined my optics, letting out a strained cry. I kicked. The ground pounder's balance wavered. He swore, and hammered down a hand against my back. His fingers, clamped around my appendage, were relentless. He wrenched on my wing, and, with a squeal of stretching derma and tautening cables, I felt my wing joint beginning to give.

Fear.

It speared through the agony, hot ice scorching the core of my spark. Even the pain was nothing compared to the sheer terror I felt at the thought of having my wing torn from my back. With a shrill wail of panic, I clamored at the Autobot. I struggled with renewed vigor, lips falling apart as pleas erupted from my vocalizer unhindered.

"Please! No!" The desperation in my voice fueled the frantic thumping of my fuel pump. "Please don't! Don't take my wing! _Don't take my wings_!" I pleaded, voice rising to a screech. It became louder still when the Autobot refused to heed my words, and yanked harder on my wing.

"No! No—!" Choked, dry sobs broke through. "Please! I beg you!" My vocalizer pinched. "Have mercy! Have mercy—!" I strained my spinal-strut, helm thrown back as I tried to compensate for the pressure at my joint. Cables splintered. Sensors burst in flaring signals. My wing started to tear, and I shrieked, each rupture a drill twisting its way into my spark chamber.

"Mercy? _Mercy_?!" The mech roared down. "Did you show mercy to my comrades when you shot them down in cold blood?! Did you show mercy when you made a slagging _game_ out of _murdering_ the civilians of Kaon?!" He was close, his ex-vents a wave of heat that swarmed my intakes. "I have no mercy for a little glitch like you!" He screamed. "I'll kill you! _I'll kill_ _you_!"

The pressure snapped.

A loud, screeching _rip_ of shredding metal pierced through the air.

Hot energon spurted, burning splatters that coated my back and flowed to the ground. It slid down along the sides of my torso, heated, wet trials that dripped pain onto the foundation of my city.

I could not move.

I could not think.

All I knew was the white, hot blade of excruciating agony scalding my core and rendering my world to chaos.

I screamed.

Coolant washed down my cheek plates, and I screamed.

My vocalizer was kliks from shorting out completely, but I screamed regardless, the boiling sensations pounding into my neural sensors too great for any other utterances.

My tattered cloak was tugged from my frame, and acid raindrops hit my fresh wound like icicles of pain falling from the sky. They sizzled when they came in contact with my exposed circuitry, and I cried, bawling and shrieking incoherent pleas for the torture to stop.

Primus, I could not even see through the coolant spilling from my optics. I could not hear, the sensors in my wing joints overtaking my entire neural grid. I could no longer feel the air from my wingless side, and it terrified me. My processors were a panicking mess, all logic control evaporated as my spark raced with a spastic burn so frantic that I could not even distinguish where the ground ended and the sky began.

Everything hurt.

My whole frame was in agony.

Acid seared my paintjob, and it corroded my finish.

I had not so intimately felt their biting touch since many vorns ago, when the night cycle of my creators' assassination saw the degradation of my most sacred being.

Energon continued to flow, drenching raw sensory nodes with liquid heat. My frame was overwhelmed by violent spasms, and I screamed, cried, wailed, sobbed, and no one cared in the slightest. Coolant trickled into my mouth. I could do nothing to stop them. The taste was bitter, and it left a lingering tang on my glossa.

The crushing weight on my back suddenly disappeared, and a hand grabbed me by the back of my neck. I was hauled off the ground, the action jolting my helm forward. The coolant pooling in my mouth flowed through my lips. It dribbled down my chin, and I whimpered, too weak and shaken to raise a hand to wipe it away.

Heavy pedfalls reached my right audial, but I could not quite register what they meant. The massive Autobot that got his optic torn out by Sunrift stood in front of me, but I could only tremble. I stared at him, strangled sobs choking past my quivering lips. They became muffled when he jerked up my chin, and invaded my mouth with a wet, slippery kiss.

His glossa was thick and sticky. It felt too big for my mouth, too fat and swollen. I whined, and tried to turn my helm away, but he held my chin insistently between his fingers. More coolant leaked in past my lips, mingling with the energon from his optic wound. The mixed fluids gathered and slid out through the corners of my mouth, and it felt slimy, disgusting. The taste was foul. His mouth was too hot. Everything was too hot, and the pain was a constant, unbearable burn, made worse by the acid rain licking the naked, severed sensory nodes of my right wing joint.

A large hand, his other, gripped my thigh, and flung it aside. He grabbed at my valve panel, fingertips digging into the seams, and I shrieked into the kiss, protests swallowed by his mouth. I began to struggle, kicking and hitting wherever I could on the hard, thick frame. However, anything I could have done was merely a mild distraction, rousing only an annoyed grunt from the mech, who was not deterred in the slightest. The grounder behind me scoffed at my behaviour, and caught my wrists with one hand. Unable to retaliate against the violation of my body, despair struck me deep in the spark, and a renewed rise of coolant welled over from my optics.

My captor's fingers picked at my valve panel. He growled when I continued to refuse him access, and became aggressive. The pressure against the seams increased. I squealed, and squeezed my thighs together when I felt the thin plating beginning to give.

Oh Primus…Please no!

I let out a screeched protest. He greedily ate it up as he continued to plunder my mouth. My jaw joints hurt from how wide he had forced open my lips, though the ache was only a minute throb compared to the injury at my wing joint. A shaky whine left my vocalizer, the noise pitiful. There was no hope of me getting out of this situation, not when there was no possibility of my fliers spotting me with the grounders shielding me from view. The battle was still viciously ongoing. Even my trine mates were busy avoiding getting slagged.

No one was coming to save me.

Making a last attempt at begging my way out, I whimpered, and began to shyly kiss back. The large ground pounder growled deep in his gut, pleased with my reciprocation, and he leaned back slightly to chuckle, lapping at the mixture of coolant and energon that had spilled from my lips. Catching the opportunity, I onlined my optics. I took a deep intake, the breath shuddering, and instantly began to plead.

"D-Don't…!" I put on the most pitiable expression I could manage, paired with a small squeal of a whine. "P—Please don't—!" My entire faceplate was wet with coolant, and I looked up at him, gaze imploring. "A-Anything—Anything…!" My voice shook, breaking mid-sentence. I squeezed my thighs tighter together, clenching around his hand, but he only stared at me, studying my expression.

Then he grinned, the split wide and ugly. "Keep begging." He chuckled, and once again latched his lips onto mine.

I screamed into his mouth, thrashing anew as another surge of fear shot through my spark. I had never known one single mech who could dispel my pleas with such ease. Just who _were_ these ground pounders? They could not possibly be the Autobots. Idiots and cowards the Senators might be, weaklings who were protected by equally incompetent subordinates. But these mechs…They were too vile, too perverse. Autobots could be cruel, could kill in cold energon, but these mechs, they were going to—

The plating of my valve cover buckled, and I cried out. With a smirk, the large mech pinched the edges of the thin panel, and began to tug. I started to kick, trying in vain to keep him from touching my valve. However, the only protection I had left was beginning to tear, just like my cloak and my wing.

I panicked, and did the last thing I could.

With a burst of scalding air, I activated my thrusters to full blast. The two grounders keeping me captive instantly balked, shouting in alarm and pain as the heat melted their plating. They tried to restrain me, to which I responded with another boost to my thrusters. Their hold loosened, and I thrashed, uncaring about the energon gushing out of the gaping wound on my back. Pain was everywhere. I could not escape it. However, I refused to sit idle while there was a chance to escape being touched by these greasy, repulsive slag heaps of mechs.

They finally let go, and I surged up in the air. It was folly, trying to fly with only one wing and a damaged equilibrium chip, so it was no surprise when I flipped once in the air and promptly dropped back down to the ground. I landed on my injured wing joint, and my shriek was so loud that my only available audial almost frizzed. Vents spluttering in sobs and dentae gritted, I forced myself onto all fours, and hurried to crawl away, stumbling from trembling limbs and slipping in puddles of acid rainwater.

I saw my severed wing laying a few wingspans away, and quickly made my way toward it. If I could retrieve it, reattaching it would not be a problem at all. I struggled to reach my wing, as it was on a small hill of rubble. I was almost there when I heard the heavy stomps of pedfalls, followed by harsh, spat out curses from the massive ground pounder. Coolant immediately gathered in my optics, and I crawled faster, frightened huffs leaving my skidding vents. I grasped for the jagged edges of a large piece of debris, but my ped slipped, and I fell back down further. I tried one more time, reaching to climb. My fingers had just grazed the edge of the rubble when another onslaught of pain wrecked over my neural network.

The ground pounder crushed one of my peds under his own. A high-pitched screech left my vocalizer, and I hastily pulled on my broken limb to hold it against my chassis. However, my aggressor did not let go. He only leaned on more of his weight, intentions malicious.

The pressure shattered my thruster system. Energon squirted into the already spreading puddle. I screamed, and scratched at his ped. I pushed his leg and pulled on my own in attempts dislodge my thruster, but I could not. Wailing and shrieking, I punched at him. I could only cry, lying in a big pool of rain water that had begun to turn glowing purple by the blood of my pain.

I curled up on the ground, remaining wing rippling the surface of the water. I hugged my knees, and bawled harder when the puddle grew deeper, the searing burn of acid rotting the injury on my back. Primus, was this it? Was this how I was going to deactivate? Rain continued to pelt from the sky. I gasped, and my intakes choked on the liquid.

So undignified.

So pathetic…

The ground pounder leaned down, and shoved my shoulder, pressing me on my back. My wing joint scraped against the rough ground, and I hitched in a sharp breath, frame stiffening from the new wave of agony.

"My amusement toward you had just run out, little princeling." My tormentor spoke down, regarding me with cool, uninterested optics. "Time to snuff out your little spark so I can move on to blow up the rest of your city." He said, and did not wear even the slightest delight at the prospect of killing a city-state's Crown Prince. He simply aimed one of his rifles at my canopy, finger poised at the trigger. I could only watch through coolant-filled optics as a charge began to build, illuminating my frame with blinding light.

The blast formed, gaining in size. I was so terrified that even the excruciation of numerous injuries could not distract me from the barrel of the rifle, one that had stunned me with fear.

I did not want to be deactivated.

Primus, I did not want to die.

I could not die.

I still had my city.

Who would look after Vos if I were gone?

I had no intended bondmate.

I had no heir.

This could not be how my spark would extinguish.

This could not be how I die.

My lips quivered. My frame shook.

Not like this…

A hysterical keen left my vocalizer.

Oh _please _Primus, not like this…!

My fingers dug into the ground.

The blast reached maximum capacity.

…No…

The grounder pulled on the trigger, and my intakes wheezed a hopeless sob.

No…!

The thick finger tugged—

-No-

—A whirr left the rifle.

-Oh-Primus-_please_—

-The brightening burst of discharge-

_-No_—!

I offlined my optics, and a thundering blast soared above.

For a long moment, I could not understand why I felt no pain in my spark.

Perhaps I had died from fear alone.

Shame tasted bitterer than coolant did in my mouth. What a coward I was, deactivating before the mech could even shoot me.

Suddenly, warm splatters of energon hit my faceplate, and the weight on top of my ped was gone.

I was confused.

How could I have felt pressure on my thruster if I had died?

Screams broke out around me, joined by cannon fire and laser blasts. The ground shook as a deafening roar split open the thick curtain of rain, and my optics instantly onlined.

I recognized that roar.

My remaining wing trembled.

I _knew_ that roar.

Slowly, I dared to turn my helm in its direction. I turned, and I saw a mech I would not have ever imagined to see in a million vorns charging forward, fusion cannon blazing as he shot down all Autobots in my proximity.

Piercing red optics. A fearsome scowl. Dentae gritted, and scratched, dull plating harboring too many scars to count.

…And those Primus-_awful_ streaks of peeling, chipping red paint on cheek plates.

_Megatron_.

I rebooted my optics in disbelief.

Megatron…!

He shot down the Autobots around me, charge announced by a loud, enraged cry. He crushed helms with his bare hands, fingers digging into optics and gutting out sparking processor parts. Energon sprayed as he plunged his fists into chassises, yanking out sparks still bright and strumming with life. He snuffed them all, lips pulled back in a vicious snarl as he squeezed them, and his optics flared, smelting pools erupting in fury as they sought violent demise for each and every one of his enemies.

He knocked down ground pounders larger than he was with hard, merciless blows. He tore limbs straight from their sockets. He ripped mechs apart like they were nothing but vapour, all the while blasting his fusion cannon with a crazed wrath I had never before seen so thoroughly overtake him.

Before long, his frame became drenched in glowing energon. He looked like he had just emerged out of a night-long group fight back in the pits, victorious, wearing the blood of our kind like a cloak worthy of a king. One by one, the Autobots fell. When he finally stopped to scan his surroundings, everything was silent, except for the cracking of the flames – the only sound within range of my damaged auditory receptors.

Spotting no immediate danger, he walked to my null rays, and picked them up before subspacing them.

He barely seemed to notice the acid rain washing over his frame. Steam rose from his heated derma as the water glided over it, finding crooks and protruding scars. He remained silent, deeming the area safe before turning toward me. With swift, large strides, he approached my prone form, but when he finally came close enough to see me, all of me, he tensed, and his peds hit an abrupt stop.

I wondered what he saw then, as he looked over my frame. I had no way of knowing, having lost too much energon for optimal function. I could not analyze the fast array of emotions fleeting across his faceplate, not when my processors felt so hazy, dragging at odd intervals. All I knew was that his optics widened, and that his jaws grew tight, as he studied the mangled panel of my valve cover.

His brow ridges knitted slightly. His lips pressed together. He appeared almost horrified, as though he had never seen a mech as mutilated as I was before. What a ridiculous thought. I wanted to laugh. He fought and survived in _Kaon_. Surely he had seen far more violated mechs.

Silence clicked by, and still, no word. Lips kept in a firm line, he slowly walked forward, steps measured and optics glowing. Faceplate an unreadable storm, he stopped beside me, and carefully knelt down, as though he did not want to accidentally startle. He retained his silence as he reached for my faceplate, and he wrapped his hand around the uninjured side of my helm, thumb ghosting across my cheek.

To my surprise, his hand…it shook.

The tremor was very slight, yet, somehow, I knew, that it made all the difference in the universe.

"…Starscream, you _fool_," His voice was low, and it carried such a dark, heavy note as he spoke. Looking down at me, his optics flashed, and his gaze was penetrating, brimmed by emotions I could not read.

I only stared back, unable to respond. I could not think past the lingering shock that Megatron was here, right beside me.

"You have always been the one to emphasize that we are allies," He bit out, jaws clenched, "so _why_?" He asked, expression falling to a grimace, "_Why_ did not you _contact_ me?"

His hand shook, but I remained speechless.

This was a Vosian matter. It had nothing to do with him.

That was what I'd wanted to explain, what I'd wanted to say. However, all that left my lips as I opened them was a small, pained whimper.

He looked at me a while longer before glancing away, hissing out a sigh through his vents. He remained still for a moment, and a hard, tense demeanor seemed to settle over his frame, heavy like a cloak. He appeared to be contemplating over something, optics pointed to the side. When he turned back, he wore a frown, and simply wiped away the coolant staining my faceplate.

He leaned down, and gathered me into his arms. Once again surprising me with the gentleness he could conjure from his rough, large bulk, he lifted me off the ground, and made sure to be mindful of the gaping wound still weeping energon at my wing joint. I must be hallucinating, I thought. All of this must be an energon-loss induced hallucination. It was probably Ramjet, or one of my trine mates, holding me close to their warm chassis and shielding me from further harm.

It could not have been Megatron. After all, Megatron saw me as mere passing entertainment, a vessel to be used in achieving his goal. In his optics, my only value was my status as the ruler of my state, my attraction toward him only worth his passing fancy, a plaything.

…However, the plating I was pressed against was too hard and dense to have belonged to a flier…The spark burning inside the broad chassis too heated and passionate to have been Ramjet's, Thundercracker's, or Skywarp's. There was a purple sigil painted and proudly displayed right over the spark – the Decepticon badge. It made me wonder, briefly, what he had done to the pendant he had worn as a gladiator.

Memory files from my first night cycle in Kaon surfaced, startling in its clarity. Ever since that first incident, so much more has happened between us, between Megatron and I. However, nothing could erase the feeling of his gaze scorching my plating as I flew away, running, escaping, after our fruitless and unsatisfying encounter. What expression had he worn? What had he been looking for?

What emotions swam in his optics as he watched me retreat, leaving him with only recollections of soft, pliable metal and trembling wings?

Tears swelled and fell. I offlined my optics, and wrapped my arms around his wide shoulders. I hid my faceplate against his neck cables. He said nothing about the coolant streaming down my cheeks. He walked a few paces forward, and stopped to bend down. Something probed my side when he straightened. I onlined my optics to see what it was.

It was my severed wing.

I held onto it, keeping it close against my cockpit, and offlined my optics again.

"The battle is far from over." Megatron pressed his lips against the side of my helm, and his voice in a deep rumble of a whisper. "I highly doubt we won't encounter hostility along the way, but the designated meeting spot with Skywarp is not far." With a low strum, the fusion cannon was activated, and its bearer started to walk. "Hold onto me, Starscream." His steps picked up into a run. "You are safe." He promised, and I could only mutely nod, nuzzling my wet faceplate into the crook of his neck cables.

Explosions came from all direction. Towers fell around us. The acid rain had dwindled to a thick drizzle, and waves of heated steam carried suffocating fume up into the sky. The air held a smothering scent of melted metal and evaporating energon. Dust irritated my intakes. However, I had barely any energy left to complain, stasis-lock imminent on my system.

Megatron held me with one arm while his other, with the fusion cannon, blasted down any obstacles in our path. I was vaguely aware of my Seekers flying overtop, covering us as my ground pounder took me to Skywarp. My hands were starting to lose their grip, and I almost tumbled off when Megatron landed after a high jump. He cursed, hurrying to catch me. There was urgency in his voice when he next spoke, shouting to be heard over the battle around us.

"Starscream. Starscream!" He shook me, now holding me with both arms as he ran. "We're almost at the coordinates. Hang on just a little longer!"

I could not even think to nod, but I did as he asked. Some time passed. I had no way of telling how long. I'd lost connection with my internal chronometer, my systems rerouting what little energon I had left to vital components to keep me alive. Through the haze of confusion and disorientation clouding over my processors, I registered another voice, and a hand that did not belong to Megatron touching my shoulder.

"Oh slag! Oh slag!" That voice kept on repeating, a hysterical edge sharp in its inflections. "Star? Star? Can you hear me? Star? …_Fragging_ _Autobots_!"

"Gather yourself, Skywarp." Megatron said, "Hurry, to the med bay."

The hand on my shoulder tightened, and suddenly, all noise disappeared. I was pulled into a void, the abrupt change twisting my sense of reality and balance. I felt like I was about to purge my tank, but luckily, the morphing ended as quickly as it began. With a heavy "thud", Megatron landed. The place was somewhere new. The air did not smell like deactivation and war. There was a deathly still silence, and then the pit broke loose.

"Ground pounder!" Someone cried out.

"Prince Starscream!" A high voice shouted.

"Let go of Prince Starscream at once!" Another commanded.

"Wait! Wait! —no! He's—" The voice that Megatron had spoken to tried to explain, but it was immediately cut off by sounds of blasters activating.

"What the frag, Skywarp?!" Yet another voice started to yell, incredulous with panic. "You teleported a Primus-damned _ground pounder_ into the _Royal Tower_?!"

"-No! He's—"

"Stand down, soldier!" A softer timbre tried to intervene, "Stand down!" It said, but it was right away drowned out.

"You are surrounded, Autobot!" A mech announced. "Unhand Prince Starscream at once, or we _will_ deactivate you where you stand!"

"Oh for Primus's sakes—"

Megatron shifted on his peds, and an instant chorus of weapons charging responded.

"Do not move, ground pounder! I repeat, do _not_ move!" Someone bellowed. It left stinging jabs in my damaged, left audial, and I groaned, immediately covering it with a hand.

"Everyone _stop_!" Soft Timbre returned, aggravation rendering it much louder than before. There was still the steady buzz of activated blasters, but the shouting had stopped. Sighing in relief, I felt my frame ease. The tension disappeared, and I leaned against my ground pounder, helm tilted and drooped.

"_No _one is deactivating _any_one in my med bay, is that understood!?" Soft Timbre hissed, voice biting and hard-edged. "If you idiots are too thick in the processors to see the priority of the situation, then _leave_, or I swear by our Holy Creator I'm going to kick you out myself! Now _you_! Prince Starscream. Berth. _Now_!"

Megatron moved. A few wide strides later, he stopped, and lowered me to a berth. Incoherent words of protest left my lips. I did not want to part with that warm chassis, that safety. However, regardless of my attempts to stay latched onto him, he put me down, and another mech came into view.

"Prince Starscream, can you hear me? Prince Starscream?" He asked, leaning down close with a frown on his faceplate. I recognized him as Soft Timbre.

I could hear him, but I could not quite reply.

Shuffling. Then my medical ports were manually opened.

"He's lost a lot of energon," Soft Timbre, who looked very familiar, sighed through his vents, and his brow ridge furrowed in concentration. "Prepare for energon transfusion."

"Affirmative." Someone from the side replied.

"Is this his wing?" Soft Timbre, who was apparently a medic—

A medic. Royal Tower. My tower. My medic—Pristinus…asked, and carefully took my severed wing from my fingers.

"Yes, it is," Megatron answered, optics darting from Pristinus to me. "Will you be able to reattach it?" He frowned.

"Of course! Who do you take me for?" Pristinus snapped, and gave Megatron a shove that did not quite move him. "Wait elsewhere. You're in the way."

"I need to speak with him." Megatron looked annoyed at being pushed around by a Stealth Jet.

"Does he _look_ like he can talk to you right now?" Pristinus tossed Megatron a glare with pursed lips. "I'm trying to save his life!"

"And you will have to save many more if I do not speak with him right now, medic!" Megatron scowled, red optics giving a piercing flash. Without another word, he bent over me, and wrapped his hands around my shoulders despite Pristinus's protests.

"Starscream, we don't have much time, so you must listen to me." I stared at his lips. The way they moved captivated me. They looked so rough, so firm, even sporting a scar, but I knew they were, in fact, very soft, and warm. "Your soldiers fight valiantly, but there are too many Autobots for them to take down before your city is destroyed. You_ need _ground support! Vos has already obtained much damage, but it will suffer further, _unnecessarily_,if you do not do as I say:

"Grant my Decepticons access into your city. We can secure the perimeter, terminate the invasion, and bring down those your fliers miss."

I continued to stare at the lips, but they stopped moving. I assumed that I had to answer.

"…Too l-late…" My vocalizer croaked out. He looked irritated by my response, but he did not strike me. His hands left my shoulders. They wrapped around the sides of my helm. He leaned down further, and his optics pinned me with a determined gaze.

"If you wait, it will be." He said, voice holding such conviction that I was momentarily taken back, unable to process just how anyone could be so sure of something that has yet happened.

However, even stranger still…I believed him.

I nodded, and what was left of my processing power began to formulate a plan.

"Skywarp," I called out, and rapid pedfalls followed. Megatron leaned away, and my purple trine mate came into view, expression uncharacteristically serious and attentive. "Skywarp," I instructed, "teleport however many Space Shuttles you need to Kaon, and return to Vos with the Decepticons at full speed."

"Count on me, Star." He flashed me a reassuring smile, and gave my hand a firm squeeze.

"Go, now." I urged him. "We don't have much time."

"Got it," He said before turning to Megatron. "Ready to go, Commander?"

Megatron nodded once, but his optics lingered on mine. He stared at me for a moment longer, and something I could not quite catch flickered across his faceplate. It was gone within a klik, and he moved away, leaving my sight. There was a distinct "pop", and Pristinus returned into my view, smile warm as he connected numerous cables into my medical ports.

"I'm going to have to manually initiate stasis-lock, your Highness," He explained as he prepared the procedure. "An automatic stasis-lock might accidentally disable some of your vital functions due to your energon level. However, worry not," He gave me an encouraging smile, "The energon transfusion has begun. We cannot give you too much at once in case it shocks your system, but everything is under control. It will be fine."

I was feeling tired, so tired. Recharge hung at the edges of my vision. My optics shuttered, flashing on and off. Pristinus was still speaking to me, words reassuring and tone soft, but I could barely understand him. A stray thought floated across my processors, wondering if the manual stasis-lock was in effect, but I did not have the time to ask.

My vision darkened, and the last words I heard from my head medic was the promise that I would, indeed, be able to fly again.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes:<strong> Oh god, this chapter, I'm pretty sure I fried at least half of my brain cells editing it. Fourteen pages in one day, I…am done. If anything doesn't flow right, it'll just…have to do for now. I'm not very picky at 2 in the morning.

Sorry about the long wait for this update! School has been busy, exams coupled with end-of-semester performances, which means many late rehearsals. Good news, however, is that classes have finally ended for me. There are still finals, but I don't have to go to school everyday anymore.

Huge thanks and much love to all of my reviewers, who have been so sweet in offering words of encouragement and support. I say this a lot, but I really do appreciate you taking the time to leave me a few words or many. Thank you: _Suki-Angel91494, cjade, Starcee138, Skylark Starflower, Random523, DemonFoxGirl1000, Ashcola17, aki. vn, Tolaya, Cloud Kitsune17, lildevchick, loverofmythology, DragonsOnMoon, Koluno1986, 6MissSparklez9, Krazed Jetformer, Delition, MalevolentMask, Devlinn Reiko, Balrog Roike, The-writing-Mew, heretherebemonsters, tiedwithribbons, Sneer, ladyredvelvet, Khysani Myrical, PwnKage, len, keeperofcoldtoes, Skandron, _and_ dellykins_ for giving me valuable feedback. It means a lot, truly.

So, what do you think? I'm not sure if I managed to surprise you with the return of Sunstorm and his creators, but I hope I did, as I love to surprise. XD Next chapter will be Megatron-Starscream centric, and there'll be a nice little treat for you inside it. Any guesses on what it might be? Some of you will probably think it's about time it happens again, haha!

Reviews would be all kinds of lovely. :)


	17. XVII

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize as canon, I do not own.

* * *

><p>XVII<p>

Two mechs were conversing.

Their voices were a mere murmur, a pleasant, toneless melody whispering in the background.

I remained suspended in the dark, but it was peaceful, still.

It surrounded me. I could not tell sky from ground. However, I felt calm, sinking yet floating at the same time.

I felt…calm. And that was strange.

I did not know why that was strange, but something in my spark told me that something bad had happened.

Something bad…

My processors were of no help, too deep in the regular, slow cycles of recharge to come up with an explanation.

I decided that I could not bother. This was nice. I had not felt so comfortable with myself for as long as I could remember.

The two voices became more distinct. They began to separate, heralding the return of awareness. I did not want it to return, not when I could soak in this warmth. My brow ridges tilted in a tiny frown. I was not ready yet, not ready to part from this retreat from reality and its attached responsibilities.

My spark told me that something bad had happened, which meant its repercussions would be weight on _my_ wings. I did not want that, at least not now. Let me rest without a worry for just a few breems longer.

However, my processors were already leaving recharge, my systems activating one by one. Everything felt slow. I must have been put under manual stasis-lock. This never meant well, especially not when paired with "something bad" from my spark.

As the dark and the warmth faded, my audials, both of them, registered more sounds. There was the even, steady pulse of beeps. There was the low hum of equipments. The voices above me formed words, and my processors caught them, grasping onto syllables that made sentences.

"—recovery soon. His injuries look worse than how they are. None of his internal components were severely damaged. His helm received impact, but his processors remain in tact. He should return to full functionality in two cycles, though he won't be able to reach full speed for another deca due to the work done to his wing and thruster."

"They look fine."

"I know." A tense pause. "They _look_ fine, but, to put matters into simple terms, they need time to properly mend before they can withstand the capacity at which Prince Starscream is able to push his systems. Flier frames are not about taking hard hits. There is much delicacy in wing and thruster repair."

A noncommittal hum, and the conversation lulled.

"…I thought Advisor Thundercracker has referred you to a temporary room to recharge in while the battle sites are being cleared."

"He has."

"Is it…not to your liking? There are other vacant rooms in the Royal Tower for you to—"

A creak. Shifting joints.

"The room is fine. It has more luxury than I know what to do with."

A long silence.

"Well, I can't let you stay here all night cycle. The med bay is not for gawking bystanders." Pause. "…I don't even know why I let you come in." A sigh. "You are not a member of his family unit, nor are you of his trine. Only such relations are granted visitation rights by protocol."

"I won't be long."

Another silence.

"I'm not familiar with ground pounders and their appropriate medical care, but from what I see, you need some repairs yourself, if only based on that creaking alone."

"I've endured worse. I will visit my medical staff once I return to my base."

"…Which will be at least several joors from now." Shuffling, and small creaks. "I see what the problem is. I can give you some preliminary treatments, or at least numb the pain."

"That won't be necessary."

"Ground pounder, you are in _my_ med bay with an injury. Do you honestly think I'll let you walk out of here with a crick in your joint? I know what you militants are like. Masochistic is what you are. You think I'm meddling with your business when I'm trying to help you."

"Don't push my patience, med-bot."

"_Med-bot_? I am the Head Medic of Vos! I have more vorns of experience under my wings than the entire Golden Age!" The voice rose in intensity despite its hushed timbre. I onlined my optics, wondering what was going on, and was met with the sight of Pristinus pursing his lips and sending chiding glares at a stoic, mildly irritated Megatron. It was a little funny, seeing a Stealth Jet hike up his wings to compensate for his lacking height against a looming ground pounder. However, I was more worried about the safety of my best medic in face of a volatile, dangerous ex-gladiator.

"Pristinus, desist." A static-filled croak left my lips. I winced, and reset my vocalizer with a small cough.

Both mechs instantly forgot about their brewing argument, and turned toward me.

"Your Highness, did our conversation wake you?" Pristinus bowed his helm, "I apologize for the commotion. I will escort Commander Megatron out of the med bay immediately."

"Is the battle over?" I asked.

"Affirmative, Sire." My medic answered.

"Did we—…" My fingers clenched a little.

"Yes, Prince Starscream," Pristinus smiled, "Your city still stands."

Oh thank Primus.

I let out a deep sigh, sagging into the berth. I shuttered my optics, and, for a long moment, all I did was stare at the ceiling, beyond the dark silhouette of the surgical lamps. A soft, warm hand wrapped around mine. I tilted my helm. Pristinus squeezed gently around my fingers, and I allowed myself to return his kind gesture with a smile of my own.

"Please do not worry, your Majesty. All matters of urgency are being taken care of." My medic explained. His voice was soothing to the audials. "The perimeter is once again secure. The science division and construction teams are in deliberation about rebuilding the labyrinth. Civilians whose homes have been demolished are placed in emergency dormitories. Energon rations have already been distributed. Scouts were sent to inspect the battle sites for survivors, all with instruction to retrieve any enemy weaponry left behind. Medical teams are helping the wounded, working alongside the patrols. Autobot casualty left behind are placed in the brig."

"The brig?" I was surprised the brigs were opened after being empty and neglected for so long.

"Affirmative. It did not seem appropriate to place them with our dead."

I nodded slowly, concerns placated for now. However, one matter still remained unaddressed.

"Pristinus, why don't you…tend to other patients?" I grimaced, optics darting aside. "There's something I need to discuss with Meg-…uhh…Commander Megatron."

I could see Pristinus studying my expression from my peripheral. He did not reply right away, and gave me a long, frowned look, one that would have made me squirm had I not been so numb in the rest of my frame. I only bit my lips, and tried my best to meet his gaze. After much failing on my part, he spared me with a turn of his helm, and pinned Megatron with a hard stare. Megatron did not move or exhibit any reaction. He met the stare head-on, but his thoughts were withdrawn, which made the medic's optics narrow.

"…Very well, your Highness." Pristinus eventually conceded, and gave me a low, respectable bow. "If there is anything you need, please comm. me immediately." His hand slipped away from mine, and he sent Megatron another lengthy look without a word. With quiet clicks of his peds, he walked out of the med bay, leaving me alone with a battle-worn ground pounder as the doors swooshed open and closed.

Megatron stood tall and imposing as ever. His optics followed Pristinus out before turning back to mine. They shined like simmering fire pits, even brighter than usual. It took me a lot longer than it should have to realize that they were so vivid because the lighting in the med bay had been dimmed to the lowest setting.

His plating was dusty. Smears of mud and residue covered his chassis and limbs, mixed with dried energon that no longer glowed. His paintjob was barely visible, having been corroded straight off by the acid rain. Scorch marks and scratches left much of his derma darkened and chipped, and there were many open wounds yet welded, the most prominent one being a horizontal gash right across his chassis. It missed his Decepticon badge, hence missing his spark chamber. However, its torn, singed edges told me that it hurt regardless.

My expression must have reflected the anxious clenching of my spark as I took in his condition. Megatron glanced down at the gash, and there was a creak from his neck cables, though he barely flinched.

"It's stopped bleeding." He stated as though that would make his injury less significant. "I'd received worse from being careless at the mines."

I could not tell if he was trying to reassure me.

"What in the pits did you _do_?" I scrunched my nose bridge.

"My job was to dig for raw energon crystals," He spoke quietly as though reciting a fond memory, though his expression was rather bland. "I was young and reckless once. I did not always heed warnings before entering the more unstable of mines. Cave-ins happened."

I frowned.

"No, I meant—" My lips hung apart as I caught myself. "…Nevermind." I looked away, and studied the machine monitoring my spark with much more interest and intent than I had. There was no reason for me to be concerned about how he'd gotten that injury. Perhaps I was curious, since it was, after all, hard to ignore.

Neither of us spoke for a while. My optics remained averted. My lips were pressed together, and I regulated my intakes, cycling deep breaths of air. The numbness in my limbs was staring to wear off, though my neural network was still partially disabled, undoubtedly to save me from feeling the blunt impact of pain upon waking. I felt as though I was floating. The sensation was strange. My wings were not quite registering the cool surface of the berth beneath them.

My wings…I smiled a little. I had both of them again.

I sent a command for a detailed diagnostic, and waited for the results. Going through them as they popped up in my processors, I was pleased to find that, aside from cosmetic damages, everything had been fixed. There were wielding marks to be sanded out and paint to be reapplied, but Pristinus, as always, did an exceptional job on my repairs. The results for my flight system came back, and I was just reading through them when a brush on my cheekplate jolted me from the task.

The touch startled me so much that I jumped on the berth. Intakes hitching in a gasp, my optics flew wide. My wings twitched, and I winced when the motion pulled on my newly fixed right wing joint.

Megatron had leaned down, one hand on the side of the berth while the other hovered a mere wingtip from the side of my face. I did not know how he had moved undetected, but by the time I noticed, he was already much closer, the tip of his nose bridge almost brushing against mine. He seemed as surprised as I was at his proximity, though he hid it very well, the only indication being the brief flash of his optics. From this close, I could see every layer of dried energon that had caked over his faceplate. Every surface scratch…thin, pale scars hidden under encrusted dust.

He parted his lips, but no word left them. He paused, frowned a little, and closed his mouth. His hand, close to my faceplate, lingered in the air. It hesitated, wavering, before he chose to place it aside, heavy against the surface of the berth.

"Calm down, Starscream." He finally said.

"What?" I hissed back. "What are you talking about?" I leaned away a little, and made an attempt at giving him an impatient sneer to mask my fidgeting.

He did not answer. Instead, he sent a glance toward the monitor keeping a track of my spark. I gave him a weak glare, slightly confused, and looked in its direction. My optics widened. The monitor was reporting all sorts of fluctuations as my spark skidded and swelled inside my spark chamber.

Embarrassment flushed through my faceplate. I snapped my helm back to him, and scowled even while my cheekplates burned.

"It's a harder task than you would think, Megatron, trying to _calm down_ when a homicidal ex-gladiator is so inappropriately close." I bit out, vents in a huff.

Megatron did not comment. One of his brow ridges slowly lifted, and, with a curt shove, he backed away. I cursed my spark as it shrank in disappointment, and almost tore the stupid cable from my medical port when I remembered that if I were to do so, Pristinus would be barging into the med bay in less than a klik. There was much to discuss with Megatron, all pertaining to a matter I did not want any other audial to hear.

"There's something we need to talk about." I forced an expression of seriousness onto my faceplate, a mask I put on when addressing another as the Crown Prince of Vos.

"Speak." Megatron stated, and I fought the urge to bark at him. As if I needed _his_ permission to do whatever the pit I wanted.

I narrowed my optics, but continued.

"Back on the battlefield," I tried to keep my voice firm, "You…saved me."

Megatron did not respond. His optics held a smoldering glow as he watched me.

I swallowed a bout of nervousness, and wiggled on the berth.

"That makes me…indebted to you…" My spark fluttered, and I had to purse my lips just to stop a frustrated groan. The burn in my cheekplates returned with even more enthusiasm. Energon rushed in my fuel lines, waves of heat encouraged by the thudding of my fuel pump.

I sincerely hoped that the lighting was too low for him to see how flustered I had become.

"Is that so?" His question barely carried any note of inquiry, and that irritated me.

"_Yes_, that _is_ so!" I sent him a scowling glare, and crossed my arms over my chassis. My right wing joint throbbed. "By Vosian tradition, such debt must be repaid with an act of equal worth. This means you are allowed one request to what you desire." I explained in a hurry, "and I am obligated to fulfill that request to the best of my abilities, as long as it is within my power to do so."

I knew what was coming next.

Any klik now, that insufferable glint of triumph would light up his optics, and his lips would spread in an expression much more alike to a sneer than a smile. He would chuckle, and he would rub his victory right in my face. It would be a humiliating moment, but I could bear it, just long enough for it to pass.

I waited.

I waited, and—…

It never came.

To my surprise, the pleased smirk that I knew for sure would appear on his faceplate never came.

Silence grew stale.

Anxiousness gnawed at the insides of my spark chamber.

"…Well?!" I could no longer keep quiet. "Don't you have anything to say?"

For a long moment, Megatron only looked at me. There might have been a pensive edge in his gaze, but he was too closed off for me to gauge. "'An act of equal worth' is very vague, Starscream." He finally answered. "I will not lay claim until I know exactly what I can and cannot collect."

Oh. Of _course_.

I sneered, and let out a terse huff.

"There isn't much you _can't_." And such is my woeful fate. "A debt of this caliber—…" I grimaced. "To put it lightly, it is a _very big deal_."

"I suspected as much." He did not elaborate until I gave him a look of confusion, "I had been rigorously instructed to keep the manner of your rescue a secret, especially from an old, excitable jet."

I cringed.

Bladeflight.

"It was emphasized that he does not take well to tradition used against Vos's favour." Megatron's voice held no note of question, but I answered as though it had regardless.

"Yes, well," I grumbled, and looked to the side, "there isn't much he can do about that."

Whatever reaction I expected from Megatron, I did not get. He looked at me, and did not make even the faintest gesture suggesting delight at the leverage he now held over me and my people. However, that did not stop him from keeping the silence much longer than necessary. The air sombered. The tension grew charged. He knew exactly what he wanted. The harsh, determined expression on his faceplate left no room for contemplation.

He dipped his chin only so our optics would meet.

His lips parted:

"My request, Starscream, is for you to wear my mark."

Words, thick like chains, waiting to bind my wings.

"Join my cause," His voice rumbled deep. "Become my second-in-command and air commander."

The rough texture of the invisible shackles – it caressed like hard digits, clutching my spark tight within his grasp. My wings trembled, and it was difficult—I struggled, to keep his gaze. "…Is that all?" I whispered, and my fingers clenched around my arms. My breathing hitched. He was silent. And when he moved, I flinched, darting away even when I knew it was futile.

He reached with his hand, and parted my arms. I allowed him to place them by my sides, intakes in soft, hushed stutters. My spark quivered, and the beeping of the monitor quickened. His energy field buzzed against mine, a tingling vibration that swept over every sensor of my frame.

His fingertips brushed against the orange-tinted glass over my cockpit. I froze still. They traced the thin grooves, leaving trails of prickling heat, and I could only gasp, watching with widened optics and parted lips. He spread his fingers. They wrapped over the curve of my canopy. He placed down his palm, pressure warming the glass, and I shivered, biting back a small moan.

"Pledge to me your loyalty," The coarse growl of his voice left my spark a flutter. "Swear to me, that you will abide to my command." His fingers squeezed, and I arched from the berth, intakes a sharp hitch. "You will suffer my command alone, Starscream." He said, presence pinning me down. "Only mine." Heat soared, a well of desire erupting deep in my core.

His hand, tight around my canopy, slowly slid down. The pace was torturous, stirring awake my sensors before his touch could even reach them. Optics offlining, I turned my helm, and clenched my jaws. His thumb rubbed against the glass, and his fingers dug into the seams, pressing against sensitive neural nodes embedded within them. I clutched around the sides of the berth, thighs squeezing together. A soft keen passed my lips, thin and high-pitched over the low whirr of my cooling fans.

I did not know whether he was aware of the intimate nature of his actions or not. Fliers only actively touched each other's canopies when initiating a bonding during interface. Nevertheless, his touch was rousing havoc on my spark and my frame. I could have told him to stop, but I was too frazzled, too reluctant, simply because it felt so_ good_.

His fingertips traced lazy patterns over the glass panels, and my vents huffed out gusts of hot air. He stroked my canopy, roaming digits wonderfully firm and rough, and I pressed against him, wanting and asking for more. The monitors plugged into my medical ports reported all kinds of heightened, frenetic results as arousal slammed into my system. My valve made a needy squeeze, and I whined, hands shooting up and grappling around his wrist.

"Wh-What are you—…What are you doing…?!" My voice came out as a squeak, and I squirmed on the berth.

I had every intention of stopping him. Probably. However, every single one of them was tossed out the window the klik I tried to do so. My spark flared and almost combusted from wanton yearning the split moment his hand left my canopy. Overwhelmed by the desperate thirst for his touch, my hands moved on their own accord, and wrapped around his wrist, guiding it downward. My processors sprouted numerous reasons to why this was an extremely stupid and bad idea, but that did not matter. The haze of sheer need was too strong. I could not stop myself.

I did not have the courage to online my optics and look at Megatron as I dragged his hand down my frame. It stroked along my cockpit, over my abdomen, and finally, rested right on top of my crotch-plate. My cheeks were scorching hot as I gritted my dentae, and parted my shaky thighs. I turned his hand, jolting as he brushed the cables in my thigh joints. With much more bravery and resolve than I truly felt, I grasped his fingers, and pressed them down right against my valve cover.

Heat. Shooting through my core. I gasped, and let out a strangled moan, frame shuddering in pleasure. Any and all doubts forgotten, I wiggled, shifting my hips as I rubbed his fingers against my cover plating. A charge was quickly building, startling in its potency, and I should have been surprised, but I was too overcome by the sweet, searing bliss to care. With a single command, my valve panel snapped open. I grabbed onto his fingers, and plunged them deep into my wet, hot port.

"Ahhh! _Yes!_" I cried out, back arching off the berth upon first penetration. His fingers felt so wonderful, so thick and warm. Guiding them, I set a slow, but steady pace, lips apart in soft moans, helm tossed back. Lubricant made the motion delightfully slick, and the walls of my valve trembled, completely yielding to his touch.

"Starscream," His voice was thick with static, "Your sensory range…has been adjusted to dull your perception to pain."

Why the frag would I care? I thrust his fingers faster into my valve, vents panting and thighs shaking.

"This has certain side effects that you—"

Why in the pits was he _talking_?! I cut through his words with a needy keen, spreading my legs further apart to drive his fingers even deeper into my interface port. The tips of his fingers rubbed against the upper nodes lining my valve, and I let out a loud cry, almost bucking off the berth.

"Yes—! That's it—R-Right there! Oh it's so good—! _So good!_" I heard myself babble, but making the connection that it was me was hard. "Don't stop! Oh for the love of Primus _please_ just don't stop!"

"Starscream—" He suddenly tugged on his fingers, and I squealed in protest. Clamping my thighs around his arm, I yanked his hand toward me, fingers digging into the groove at his wrist.

"F-Frag it, Megatron—Don't you dare stop! Don't you fragging dare!" I onlined my optics in a flash, and shouted at him in a heated battle to pull him closer. "Finish what you started, you scrapheap of a rust bucket!" I yelled, and fought with all my strength to sink his fingers deeper into my valve.

He growled and glanced to the side, bracing himself with his other hand on the edge of the berth. With an especially hard tug, he tried to dislodge my legs from his arm, and I screeched, scrambling when it almost threw me off.

"Starscream!" Exasperation flared in his optics as he shouted down at me. He glanced to the side again, but I was too frustrated to give a damn about what he kept looking at.

"I don't care if Primus himself is about to smite you, Megatron!" Not giving up, I yanked at his arm with greater vigor. "Stop stalling and _frag me_, damn it!"

A loud crash, and my words hiccupped to a stop. I jumped, freezing to stillness. I stared at Megatron, and, for a long moment, was unable to piece together just what that crash was. Megatron stared back, but after a few kliks, he looked away, once again turning to the side. Curiosity an insistent nag, I cursed, and finally tossed a careless glance in that direction.

My fuel pump stopped.

My spark almost fell right out of my spark chamber.

I doubled back, and felt my optics stretch into a wide, stunned gape.

Nightfire was on a berth on the other side of the med bay. His paintjob made him so hard to see in the darkened room that he was barely more than a pair of floating optics, its shine the only light source brightening up his faceplate. He was sitting up on the berth, watching us with utter horror, lips agape in a silent cry of shock. One of the monitors connected to his arm was on the ground, sparking every once in a while. That must have been the crash when the Space Shuttle grabbed at it to prop himself upright.

Silence stretched over us like a charged cannon kliks from a blast. I gawked at my advisor in equal amount of dismay, processors so blanked and frozen that I completely forgot about Megatron's fingers still inside my valve. Nightfire's optics darted downward. He made a choked back, strangled cough. I snapped out of my stupor with a sharp gasp, and I screamed.

I shoved Megatron away and kicked at him with my peds, valve cover snapping closed.

At least, it tried to.

As I frantically sent down commands for it to shut, it slid, and jammed against one of Megatron's fingers. Shrieking in hysteric embarrassment, I repeated the commands, but it only squeezed against the digit, lodging it in place.

"Get-it-out-get-it-out-get-it-out-GET-IT-OUT—!" I kicked at Megatron's helm and screeched.

"Calm down, Starscream!" Megatron grabbed at my legs, catching one of my thighs and inciting another scream from my vocalizer.

"What the frag are you doing?!" Hollering at the ground pounder, I bucked and jerked and thrashed. "Let go off me!" I clawed at the faceplate of the slagger whose slagging finger was still inside my valve. "Let _go_!"

Megatron bit out a curse, and gave his finger a terse pull. Unfortunately, it was stuck, and too much force could tear the panel straight off from between my legs.

"Settle down, Starscream!" He clenched his fingers around my thigh to get my attention, but I did not even feel it beyond a faint pressure. "You have to open your cover!"

"Are you fragging _glitched_?!" I continued to struggle, fighting and aiming my peds at anywhere vulnerable I could reach. "Get your finger out of my valve, you sick fragger!" One of my thrusters clanged against his faceplate, and he exploded in fury.

"_Starscream_!" He roared down at me and wrenched aside my leg. With a ruthless swing, his arm shot forward, and clamped a hand around my neck cables. He shoved me down, slamming my helm against the berth. The impact jolted my processors, and I groaned, optics offlining.

It was too hard to not be felt even with my pain receptors dampened.

I was sure a dent had formed. Pristinus was not going to be a happy medic when he found out what had happened.

Optics rebooting, I looked up, and nearly startled right off the berth had there not been a hand pinning me down. Megatron's faceplate hovered a mere wingtip over mine, features twisted into an expression of utmost rage. His optics were aflame with anger, flashes of light brighter than all of Unicron's smelting pits combined.

"_Starscream…_" He snarled, grinding my designation through a vicious, feral sneer. "Open your valve cover, _now_!"

I immediately shrunk back into the berth, and whimpered fearfully while I retracted my valve panel with hasty commands. Megatron hissed as his finger was released. He slowly pulled it out, and leaned back to examine the digit. I almost deactivated from embarrassment when I saw it drenched in my lubricant.

Megatron only made a low grunt, lips still curled in a scowl. He leaned away, hand unraveling around my neck cables, and took a few steps back, increasing our distance. Suddenly out of immediate danger zone, I regained my nerve, and heaved myself upright as my valve cover clicked closed. I did not dare look in Nightfire's direction, so I swung up an arm, and pointed straight at Megatron's faceplate with the nastiest sneer I could muster.

"This is all your fault!" I shouted, glare accusative and wings jerking on my back.

Megatron's optics narrowed.

"…_Starscream_…"

Not intimidated in the least, my voice only rose in volume.

"Why didn't you tell me Nightfire was here all this time, you fragger?! And don't you dare lie about not seeing him! There's no slagging way you could have missed him!"

"Stop accusing me of your own fault! Had I seen him, I would have never let you go so far!"

"Lair!" I screamed at him. "You lying glitch! You knew all along! You just wanted to humiliate me!"

"Don't be ridiculous," He spat out, hands clenching into tight fists. "You are behaving like a sparkling!"

"A_ sparkling_?! How dare you?!" I was so livid that my wings were stretched straight up on my back. "I am Crown Prince to an entire city-state, you insolent aft! I can order execution on your ugly faceplate! Why the frag did you come here in the first place?! You are not even _remotely_ worthy to be in my tower!"

"Not worthy? I saved your _life_!" Megatron's optics were almost slits now, so bright that they pierced through the dark like flaming spears, but nothing could stop me from lashing out at him in righteous fury.

"So what, Megatron?! You want a fragging _trophy_?! Any one of my Seekers could have flown over top and saved me!" My whole frame was trembling. The readings from the monitors became erratic. "What you did was not half as valiant as you think it is! There are hundreds of fliers who would _die_ for my safety, and you think what you did was special? Ha! Don't make me laugh!" I hissed out, baring my dentae and glaring.

"You think I'm going to kneel over and kiss your peds just because you happened to get to me first, you glitch-ridden scrapheap?! There is order in this universe and I was sparked above yours, Megatron! You should thank Primus that you had the chance to redeem yourself to land you permission inside my city! For an insignificant miner rotting underground, this is practically the miracle of your miserable life!" My lips curled into a malicious sneer.

"And how do _I_ know you didn't just blatantly _pretend_ to not know that the Autobots were going to attack my city? How do I know you didn't plan this from the very beginning just so you can trick me into joining your band of idiots?! You think I'd forgotten that you have inside intelligence within the Autobot ranks, Megatron? You forget who you are dealing with! I am the great Starscream, Crown Prince of Vos!" I raised my wings higher. "You cannot fool me with your petty, pathetic plans! I owe you nothing, you hear?! I owe you absolutely—"

A fist crashed toward my faceplate, and my tirade was cut off by a high-pitched yelp. I ducked, and the punch slammed into the medical berth, freezing my core with fear when the enforced metal crunched under the force of the attack. With a jolt, I snapped out of my angered haze. Only then did I noticed how utterly fragged off Megatron was, heat rolling off from his frame in visible waves.

Oh Primus…He looked ready to kill!

His entire massive frame was shaking, joints straining under the tension of his rage. Overworking cooling fans sent out harsh streams of blazing hot air, searing the sensors in my quivering wings. He wore the most terrifying expression on his faceplate, every bit of ferocious wrath put on display. However, what made it most spark-chilling was the fact that he was in complete control of the dark, deadly monstrosity that his spark harboured – raw power ruled by cold, calculating processors.

"…I saved your_ life_, Starscream, and this is the thanks I get?" His voice was deceptively low, syllables bit through clenched dentae. "You seem to misunderstand something very important, flier." He fumed, still and dangerous. "I did not have to come and honour this _joke_ of an alliance." He pinned me down, fiery optics stabbing me straight through the spark chamber.

"I do not hesitate to say that I have never been interested in being a mere _ally_ to you." He hissed out. "The reason I'd consented to your request is, frankly, I desire you, and I want you as mine. However, do _not_ make the mistake of assuming that for such reason alone I am willing to tolerate this behaviour from you." He gritted, and I felt my wings give a violent spasm. "I am not in the least impressed with your lack of appreciation for what I've done, for _you_."

Tension mounted. His optics narrowed further.

"_Nothing _comes freely, Starscream. I expect full repayment in form of nothing less than complete, unquestioning submission to my command from you.

"You _will_ be mine to rule as long as I see fit, and I would hope, for your sake, that you will always remain useful to me and my cause." He made an especially cruel expression then, and, with a hitched gasp, I scrambled backward, shuffling as far as I could away from his reach.

"The instance you become worthless to me, _Crown Prince_," He growled, the sound low and rasped, "you will be disposed of."

Silence reigned over us.

I did not dare move or respond in case anything I did somehow provoked him to physically hurt me, as ridiculous as that notion was since we were in my tower in the middle of my city. However, the intensity behind his glaring look was too strong to challenge in any way, and I was left too afraid to make a single sound. I remained speechless, huddled at the end of the berth. The only stray thought that fleeted over my processors was of surprise that Nightfire had not spoken at all throughout this entire encounter.

"…I don't hear an affirmation from you, Starscream." Came a snarled warning, and I immediately cowered, drawing my knees up in protection.

"Y-Yes, Lord Megatron…!" I blurted out, and, for several kliks, he did not speak.

"Lord?" He might have sounded confused, but mighty Megatron did not get confused.

"A—Affirmative," I sent him a small glance. "After all…you are now higher in rank than a prince." I ducked my helm. "So you are nothing short of a lord…"

He made a low hum, but did not give further comments.

Pristinus strode into the med bay not a klik after, having hurried over when one of Nightfire's secondary monitors stopped feeding results to the medical mainframe. He made a fuss about the crashed monitor, and chided me for moving about when I should be lying still in recharge. He gave Megatron a few displeased looks, but even he did not dare ask the still fuming ground pounder just what in the pits had happened. Megatron did not remain in the med bay for long. He turned to leave soon after Pristinus's arrival. Pausing at the door, he spoke to me, but he did not even face me like he should.

"I will be returning to Kaon as soon as all Decepticons have been accounted for." He announced, helm not even tilted toward my direction. "I expect one report per cycle from you, Starscream, regarding the status of your city."

When Pristinus paused in his rechecking of the monitors to stare at me in astonishment, I wanted to hide, or better yet, shoot the rust bucket in the aft. For Primus's sakes, he was shaming me right in front of my subordinates! I expected him to start treating me according to my rank in his stupid Decepticon hierarchy, yes, but he was deliberately disrespecting me. He was giving me his first address as my commander, and he was not even looking at me in the faceplate like my position deserved.

What outrage! I clenched my fists, pressing my lips together to stop myself from dishing out scathing replies. I was his second-in-command!

"I also expect to be present in the announcement of your allegiance to my faction," He continued. "Understood?"

"…Yes." I grumbled.

"Yes what, Starscream?" A frightening edge laced his voice, and I involuntarily shivered, both in fear and, to my great disgust, a surge of corporal excitement.

"_Yes_, my most gracious and benevolent lord Megatron," I crooned in dripping sarcasm, and made a face to his back.

Megatron did not acknowledge my insincere response. He gave the key pad sharp tap, and walked out the door when it slid open. When his hulking frame finally disappeared, I heaved a deep sigh through my vents, and felt my wings sag in relief. Pristinus, to his credit, had stopped looking surprised. He did not ask any questions. Adopting his usual approach to politics of "as long as I have a med bay I don't give a frag what happens", he went on to check the rest of the monitors.

Suddenly feeling exhausted, I shuffled down the berth, and settled carefully on my back. Pristinus paused in his assessment of the monitors to assist me, ensuring that my wings were comfortably placed in standard position. Ignoring the lingering hints of heat and desire, I was more than ready to entire a deep recharge cycle. However, Nightfire spoke up for the first time in the whole night cycle, unwilling to let the event pass without having a few words.

"…Prince Starscream—" He began, and I groaned.

"Can't it wait, Nightfire?" I mumbled, and draped my arms over my optics. When the Space Shuttle did not respond, I knew immediately that he was not about to give up without a fight.

With another tired sigh, I asked in great reluctance, "What is it?"

"I know you wish to recharge, your Highness, so I will be brief," His voice carried a note of tension, a hard tinge that I did not hear often from him. "I just would like to remind you that you are our prince, Sire." He paused. "You are _our_ prince," He repeated, "Regardless of what you must do, for _them_."

I bit down my jaw joints, and did not reply right away.

I could feel his optics on me even as I hid mine behind my arms.

What Nightfire was really saying was a warning. He was not going to question my whorish tendencies as long as I became more careful in the future. However, he had made his stand on the situation very clear: play if you will, but it must never get in the way of your duties to Vos, which included eventually finding a bondmate, a _flier_ bondmate.

After all, I had to ensure and protect the purity of my royal lineage.

My spark quivered and shriveled inside my spark chamber, but I nodded. I knew I had to keep everything hidden and under control. Megatron made clear of his not entirely political and military intentions toward me. I could easily manipulate it, and…I would. I was not above exploiting it to my advantage if it had the potential of bringing benefits to my city and its people. However, I must be extremely careful. After all, I could not afford to get accidentally attached.

Nightfire was hardly the only flier in Vos holding such tradition religiously. Even Skyfire, always one to encourage better relations between Vos and the rest of Cybertron, had furrowed his brow ridges in bewilderment, unable to understand attraction between a ground pounder and a flier. It had actually happened a few times before I commanded complete isolation of Vos, though I was too young to remember such relationships. However, according to Skyfire, nothing good ever came out of it.

Skyfire never lied to me, so what he said must be true.

There was shuffling from Nightfire's side of the med bay, and I could only assume he had settled down on his own berth. Even though he no longer watched me, I still did not dare lower my arms from shielding my optics from view. My lips were trembling, so I bit down on them hard. My wings were starting to shake, and Pristinus placed a soft hand on them, gently rubbing until they stopped. My spark was sore. It throbbed and pinched. However, there was no rubbing that could make it better.

I regulated my intakes as they took air into my system. I concentrated hard on every component involved in the action, even as my processors slowed, entering a recharge cycle.

After all, I had to concentrate on something, anything, to ignore the cold feeling of lubricant behind my valve cover, and the prickling sensation of coolant threatening to rise from my optics.

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><p><strong>Notes:<strong> Life is never easy for monarchy. Poor Starscream, none of his people want to see him with Megatron, except for maybe Skywarp. XD But hey, at least that ex-gladiator got promoted to "Lord".

Massive thanks once again to lovely, kind reviewers _Krazed Jetformer_,_ Suki-Angel91494_,_ The Happy Shark_,_ Delition_,_ 333_,_ lildevchick_,_ IAmSilversky_,_ Cjade_,_ Ashcola17_,_ Koluno1986_,_ keeperofcoldtoes_,_ Cloud Kitsune17_,_ Boop_,_ The-writing-Mew_,_ Ultimate Nerdbot_,_ Random523_,_ Balrog Roike_,_ heretherebemonsters_,_ ladyredvelvet_,_ Devlinn Reiko_,_ Jacky Writer_,_ rj545_,_ Starcee138_,_ loverofmythology_,_ Skylark Starflower_,_ Dampsefi_,_ AAP, aki. vn_,_ doubleports_,_ bunyipbabe_,and_ starscreamfancypants_. You guys really know how to make the day special. :/)

I think I should address how Megatron managed to get to Vos in the last chapter, since it won't really be talked about in the future. Due to the POV of this story, not everything will be explained in detail as to not congest the pace of the plot. This means that sometimes, you will just have to…make an educated guess based on what's happened and what's been implied. I'll try my best to explain these things, but I don't want to bore you with what you'll just find obvious when you read it in the end.

How I personally imagine Megatron to have gotten there (and, really, the only way for him to get to Vos that fast) is through Skywarp. By Vosian military protocol, no grounded soldier is rescued. I think this is actually to protect the fliers still capable of battle. It wouldn't do well to die while trying to save a friend, which could potentially diminish the numbers of troops significantly if everyone did it. However, Starscream isn't a soldier, but he was surrounded by Autobots, which made rescue tricky. Skywarp saw and assessed the situation, and made the most logical choice of action: get Megatron, who could slag the Autobots and get Starscream out of there.

Now that's out of the way, what did you think of this chapter? ;) I hope you enjoyed reading the treat, though it ended before anything can really happen, haha! As always, I really do want to know your thoughts on this installment. Please drop me a few words. They'll be greatly appreciated!

Review now? Please?

Ps: I got a **tumblr**! acteon-carolsfeld . tumblr (dot c o m). Add me if you would like to talk or whatever else you'd like to do. :)


	18. XVIII

Disclaimer: I don't own Starscream or Megatron or any of the characters. Why…? :'(

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><p>Oh, before you move on to the chapter, <strong>PLEASE READ <strong>THE FOLLOWING**:**

I was going to put this note _after_ the chapter, but I realized that doing so would effectively kill the mood (XD), so I decided to place this here, at the beginning. Sorry for the interruption. Please bear with me for a few minutes. I just would like to take a little time to address the topic discussed in an anonymous review I'd received the last chapter. While I do believe everyone is entitled to their own opinions, I think some opinions require responding to rather than simply letting slide.

I apologize for going all Prowl on you, but please read on, as I think this topic needs to be addressed. I am not here to justify the decisions I have made for this story. I disagree with the analysis given in the review, but I think the evident misconceptions on the topic of "abuse" are much more important.

No abuse can be categorized as "humorous". It's hard discussing this in terms of giant alien robots from outer-space, and sociology is not my area of expertise. However, hearing abuse described as "humorous and non-consequential" made me very uncomfortable.

Abuse is not okay. Period. Which leads me to my next point.

Calling Starscream an abuse victim and a "helpless", "submissive bitch" at the same time is not only tactless, but also extremely wrong. This makes the grave implication that abuse victims are "helpless" and "submissive bitch[es]". The reason this is not a belief anyone should uphold is pretty straightforward.

These are the two points, and the only two points I will discuss. I don't feel like I need to explain my story, which, in my opinion and that of a fellow writer who I've consulted with, does _not_ exemplify spousal abuse. Starscream was not "gear[ed] up" as an abuse victim. _He has been one since the beginning of this story_. He was sexually abused as a child in the Prologue. However, my intention is far from writing him as a "helpless" and "submissive bitch".

This will be the only time I'm addressing this issue. I believe I've said enough. I am not sorry for what I've written. There is a very important message, one that is very close to my heart, that is driving this story forward. It will not be apparent until later, but I know, with _absolute_ _certainty_, that it is _not_ "senseless and vile domestic abuse disguised as 'love'".

There is also nothing wrong with writing a story for therapeutic purposes.

If you've read this far, thank you, truly, for taking the time to do so. If you ever see an aspect of my story that can be improved, please let me know. I take all feedback into consideration. If this isn't your cup of tea, I'm sorry I couldn't be more obliging. However, please don't leave comments like the ones I've discussed above. XD

Anyways, that's enough serious talk for the day. Now that _that's_ addressed and done with, let us move on, shall we? :)

Please enjoy the chapter.

Happy reading!

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><p>XVIII<p>

The cycle of my humiliation came much sooner than I would have preferred. No matter how much I tried to ignore the dread and nervousness in my spark, they stayed, determined to let themselves known. I'd taken the longest wash cycle in the history of Cybertron, and had already applied two layers of polish. However, I still did not feel ready to embark on my enslavement to Lord Megatron and his cause.

Aside from Pristinus, Nightfire, and my trine mates, no other flier knew of the recent development. To everyone else, I was simply holding a public address regarding the recent battle. They expected me to say a few words to commemorate the dead, to offer condolences to their family units. I'd then encourage the wounded on their recovery, and perhaps pass a medal or two to brave soldiers and their generals. Other than a selected few, none of my citizens suspected anything out of the ordinary. They hadn't the faintest clue of the announcement I was going to make.

I was to make the address in the Grand Hall, which, as I had been informed, was going to house a total of four hundred attendees. Live video-feed would be broadcasted to every monitor available, and this was great, really, because only then could every pair of optics in my city witness my submission to a ground pounder. Just thinking about it made my spark flip and churn. My wings kept twitching, but there was nothing I could do about an inborn reflex. I scrutinized my reflection in the mirror, and readjusted the position of my crown. It finally sat straight, and I sighed, a deep weight tugging my spark chamber when I realized just how beautiful I looked.

Why was I even bothering to perfect my appearance? I was going to publically acknowledge being _second_ to a grounder, who used to be a gladiator in Kaon, who used to be a miner in a smelting pit of a mine. By Primus, what had Cybertron come to?

There was a pop behind me, and my trine mates' reflections joined mine. Seeing my sulky expression, Thundercracker offered a comforting, but helpless little smile, which only made me feel worse about the whole thing. Skywarp, on the other hand, was irritatingly giddy.

"Whoa, Screamer!" He laughed and hopped over, clapping me hard on the shoulder, "You look even prettier than usual! Unicron-slag-me, your aft is even shinier than the last time I saw it!"

I glared at him through the mirror, and scowled.

"Say anything about my aft one more time, Skywarp, and you won't have one of your own to speak of."

"Awww c'mon, don't be like that," The purple slagger laughed again, grinning at me with sparkling optics. "In all seriousness though, you're practically glowing!"

That much was correct. I took another look at myself. I was, quite frankly put, the embodiment of my glorious city, of all its brilliance, splendor, and magnificence. Feeling a little more confident, I perked up my wings, and straightened my posture. I was even more majestic and stunning than usual, which was a hard feat since I was always at the pinnacle of beauty. Not a single speckle of imperfection marred my appearance. The polish had truly brought out the most dazzling vibrancy of my paintjob, enhancing the natural shimmer of my plating to an alluring, captivating shine.

"It's true, Star," Thundercracker wrapped his hand over my right wing, giving it a soft rub. "You look beautiful." His smile grew warm, and his optics shimmered.

"…Why do I get the feeling you're sending me off to get bonded?" I shook both of them off and huffed, walking away to my berth. There was a spot on my left ped that could use a little more polishing.

"We're just trying to make you feel better." Skywarp shrugged, following and flopping down beside me. "Personally, I don't get what the big deal is. It was bound to happen sooner or later."

"I can trial you for treason for that." I tossed him an annoyed look.

"But you love me too much, don't you, Screamer?" To my utter horror, he bounced closer, and started to nuzzle against me, wrapping his arms around my waist.

"Stop that!" I pushed his helm and swatted at his arms, "You'll ruin the polish!"

"Oh, sorry, didn't mean to do that." He grinned sheepishly as he relinquished his hold. "Wouldn't do to ruin your efforts at impressing Megatron, after all."

Had I not been so busy polishing my left ped, I would have punched him in the faceplate. My chronometer was beeping alerts, notifying me that, within the next fifteen kliks, I had to start making my way to the Grand Hall or risk being late. I rubbed the "extra-shine" in hasty strokes, spreading the wax. My fingers became shaky, and the cloth fell, slipping from my digits.

I cursed, and bent over to retrieve it, a frustrated sneer on my faceplate. Thundercracker stopped me with a gentle nudge. He knelt down in front of me, picked up the cloth, and reached for my left ped.

"Allow me, Star." He smiled in reassurance, and began to gently massage the wax into my plating. Usually, the calm air around my blue trine mate did wonders to my turbulent spark. However, at the moment, the last thing I wanted was his slow and steady demeanor while my wings flicked in agitation.

"We're going to be late." I tried to hurry him, optics darting to the door.

"We aren't." Thundercracker murmured, and did not even look up. "You seem to have forgotten about something that makes our trine very unique, your Majesty." His voice was deep and soothing, mirroring the tiny tilt of a smile on his lips.

"Yeah!" Skywarp piped up my berth, limbs spread and helm quirking up. "I can get us there in less than a klik, 'cause I warp!" His optics suddenly flashed, and I inwardly groaned when I recognized that look. "'Warp warps! 'Warp warps! See? 'Warp warps!" He began to snicker, rolling on my berth, and I felt a pained expression form on my faceplate.

"What's _wrong_ with him?" I asked as Thundercracker rose from his knees, having deemed my ped befitting the rest of my frame.

"He's had a bit of highgrade," My blue trine mate gave me a look of apology. "I tried _really_ hard to stop him."

I huffed out a sigh. "Just make sure he doesn't do anything stupid during the ceremony." The last thing I needed was a drunken trine mate on top of everything else.

I stood up, and gave my appearance one last look. From the tips of my wings to the bottom of my thruster heels, nothing sparkled more than any other. I was equally shiny all around. Thundercracker pulled Skywarp from my berth, and, to my hidden relief, Skywarp did not stumble. My purple trine mate wrapped one of his arms around my blue trine mate, and his optics shimmered as he grinned at me, offering his other arm.

"C'mon, Star, perk up." He said, tone warm. "If _you_'re not happy about becoming a Decepticon, how can everyone else be?"

I wanted to tell him that I was not happy about becoming a Decepticon, which would undoubtedly break his tiny, fragile spark. However, I only grumbled, and lowered my gaze to the floor. While Skywarp's lack of compassion irked me to no end, he was right on one account. Despite how I actually felt, I had to _look_ proud. I must put up a front for my fliers, who definitely would not take well to the news of their sovereign submitting to the command of a ground pounder.

"This whole thing is ridiculous." I mumbled as I shuffled toward my trine mates.

"Yeah, well, fliers need _something_ to do during a time like this." Skywarp shrugged before pulling me close. Without another word, he activated his teleportation sequence, and the next time our peds touched the floor, we were in the Grand Hall.

One look, that was all it took for a grimace to curl my lips. My spark did a nauseating flip. There was so much _merriment_ floating in the air.

What was there to be so cheerful about? We were commemorating the dead, for Primus's sakes. Skywarp really was not kidding when he said everyone needed a distraction from the recent tragedy.

My Grand Hall was bustling with activity. Fliers rushed back and forth from floor level to air, adding last touches to decorate and polish everything in sight. The floor gleamed. The pillars wore a fresh layer of wax. The ceiling glowed, its embedded crystals glittering under the light. I squinted, and dialed down the sensitivity level of my optical sensors. This was almost overwhelming.

All windows had been opened, allowing a soothing current of cool air to circulate within the large chamber. Long rows of chairs, newly made, created a winged shape that fanned out from the central aisle to the pillars. One for every attendee, vines of gold intertwined into an elegant seat, armrests lined with gemstones. Their colours complimented my throne, which shined on a raised platform led to by stairs of marble.

Speaking of my throne…I peered at it. It seemed to have been freshly shined, but that was hard to tell, since the same was done every cycle before morning court. There were new cushions, and a crowd of pillows, one for every monarch who has ruled before me. The tapestry behind my throne had been changed as well, from an aerial view of Vos to an embroidered drapery of the Royal Seal, which covered the entire length of the back wall. Upon closer inspection, it depicted the life of every Vosian ruler, ending with a portrait of my wings and my crown at the center.

To my utter annoyance, there was another chair, placed right at the foot of the stairs I was to ascend. Instead of facing my throne, it was looking across the hall, perpendicular to the platform. The said chair looked like a plank of scrap-metal compared to the splendor around it. It was built wide to accommodate a certain Decepticon Lord's size. What an optic-sore, I huffed, and jerked my sight away.

I could see Nightfire conversing with Bladeflight, who was pointing at one of the pillars. Two Fighter Jets were trying to make even a massive banner, one that hung from one side of the Grand Hall to the other, under the instructions of the general. On the boldly coloured fabric, it read, in fancy strokes of Cybertronian calligraphy, "All hail our city. All hail aerial supremacy. All hail Vos."

"Did I ever give permission for everything to be so…extraneously extravagant?" I tilted my hem toward Thundercracker, and nodded at the fliers that bowed upon my arrival.

"Well…you never objected, Star," Thundercracker frowned as he explained. "I'd talked to the other advisors, and we collectively decided that, due to the amount of damage and lives lost, we should try to bring a new perspective to the commemoration, one that is less depressing. We thought it'd be better to honour those who had sacrificed their sparks by celebrating their accomplishments and their bravery, and what they'd given their lives to protect." His frown deepened when I sent him a skeptical glance. "I gave you a report to review our ideas, and you'd expressed consent."

I did?

I looked away to hide my surprise.

I had no immediate recollection of ever doing so. However, as I ran a deeper scan through my memory banks, I found that I had, indeed, agreed to this ridiculous hassle.

"Why in the pits would I care what that ceremony ends up looking like?!" I had yelled and flared my wings. "I'd rather not have that bucket-helm slag-eater brand me at all! Do whatever the frag you want!" I had thrown the data pad back at Thundercracker's faceplate, and then stomped away.

I winced. What an embarrassing spectacle I'd made of myself, though, in hindsight, it was completely justifiable. I was already bristling with anger by the time my trine mate had found me. The aforementioned bucket-helm slag-eater had just demanded that I let Soundwave broadcast my humiliation, my branding ceremony, to all monitors in Kaon as well. He'd said some slag about informing the troops of my coronation as the Decepticon second-in-command and air commander, but I _knew_ what he really wanted was to brag that he's made a meek little Seekerling out of the Crown Prince of Vos.

Frag. I'd wanted to forget about it, and was doing a pretty good job until I got a reminder.

"…Are you…unhappy about the arrangements, Sire?" Thundercracker's sudden formal address jolted me out of my thoughts. I was not aware I had scrunched my nose bridge and furrowed my brow ridges until both Nightfire and Bladeflight, noticing our approach, bowed their helms. They exchanged worried looks, Nightfire's guilty and Bladeflight's uncertain. Their wings were starting to sag, and I sighed through my vents, waving their concern aside.

"No," I made half a face. "Everything is just…different than I expected." I finished with an awkward shift on my peds, and pardoned the fliers who'd paused in their work to bow.

"It _is_ a rather bold move, your Highness," Bladeflight straightened alongside Nightfire, "but I'm sure the public will appreciate it. After all, more time should be spent on the celebration of our victory. For our city, your Vos, Sire," The general dipped his helm, "every one of my Fighter Jets would gladly meet glorious ends." Military medals, stating his status as an accomplished general, hung on his chassis. Most of them predated my creation, and I suddenly felt a desire to touch them.

"This is certainly different from the last occasion during which we had to publically address an event of this caliber." Nightfire was wise to not mention what that occasion actually was, since I had been nothing short of a mess of a youngling back then. "I did extensive research on similar ceremonies preceding the Golden Age, those dedicated to celebrating victories, commemorating lost soldiers, and the formation of alliances and so forth. This barely holds more grandiose, but I thought we should be modest, lest our citizens have forgotten how we used to run these things."

"I wouldn't be surprised if they have," I looked up at the banner, gaze pensive. "It's been a very long time since Vos had last seen war." The crown on my helm slid back, and I startled, hands shooting up to hold it still.

"Are you sure you don't want the girth of the crown adjusted, your Highness?" Nightfire reached to help me right it.

"Yes," I answered as he leaned away. "I don't want any change."

Nightfire smiled in understanding, and nodded.

"Then, would you like me to magnetize it for you, Sire?" He asked instead.

"Yes, that would be great."

Leave it to my scientific advisor to always carry magnetizing chips. As he attached them to the crown and steadied it on my helm, my spark throbbed, an old memory file resurfacing.

I was still a youngling when this crown was made. It was a gift from my creators, for when I reach maturity. Its size had been determined by calculation, which was why it was not a perfect fit. The red gem that sat in the middle had come from an alien planet the Cybertronian Armada had freed from Quintesson rule, and my carrier had once told me that it reminded him of my optics.

"There," Nightfire's smile broadened, "Now it's much more secure."

"Thank you, Nightfire." I touched the crown with my finger tips, and felt the red jewel. I would never change anything about this crown, even if it was a bit large for my helm.

"I was with the late Majesties when they'd acquired the gem," Bladeflight suddenly blurted out, and everyone turned to stare. The aged Fighter was not of those old fliers who liked to tell stories, which was why it surprised us, and easily captured my attention.

"I know very little about precious stones from distant solar systems," He continued, "but there had been a lot of digging before this was retrieved, so I can only assume it's rare. The ground pounders found it, of course, during one of their mining expeditions to find raw materials for conversion to energon. They'd almost thrown it away when your Creators spotted it, your Highness." Bladeflight smiled, fondness and a tiny dash of confusion in his gaze. "I'm still not sure what had caught their attention, but your Carrier in particular took quite a strong liking toward it."

"Did he…not say?" I asked in a soft voice, and tried not to show how expectant I felt. However, I couldn't help but take a small step forward, optics wide and curious.

"Nothing specific," Bladeflight paused while he frowned in concentration, "But he _did_ say he was surprised that something so exquisite could have come from so deep underground."

I instantly deflated, disappointment bitter on my spark.

"That's it?" I made a face, and crossed my arms over my canopy.

"I hope you don't mean you expected your Carrier to see your optics in a rock, Sire," Bladeflight chuckled a little. "The gem was hardly impressive in its primary state. It would be vorns before it was filed down and refined from its coarse form."

Aside from it being about my creators, I did not understand what significance the story held. However, I nodded thanks at Bladeflight regardless. It was not often he decided to share his age. A ping reached me then, over comm., from one of the general lines for matters within my tower. I dismissed Nightfire and Bladeflight to their previous task, and answered the request.

:_Yes?_:

:_Your Highness!_: A voice I did not recognize cried out, loud and hysterical, :_This is—This is Solarflare, Striker Jet from border patrol team sector ten. All hail Prince Starscream!_:

:_What is it?_: I asked. I would not be contacted unless something urgent happened.

:_I-I'm one of the Strikers assigned to watch—…I-I mean, accompany Decepticon Commander Megatron while inside Vos, Sire. The service staff was tending him, to get him ready for the ceremony, but he's not happy about having his plating polished, your Highness! One of the serfs took off his helmet to reach the panels on his helm, and he punched the poor Seeker into the wall! Despite our best efforts, he just stormed out of the designated waiting room, and he's trying to find his way to the Grand Hall._:

I scowled. Megatron punched one of my Seekers? What the frag was his problem?! Having some work done on his awful frame was not going to deactivate him.

:_I tried to dissuade him, your Majesty, but he's not listening to me!_: The Striker sounded like he was kliks from a system meltdown, so I decided to take pity on the poor flier. After all, telling him to somehow get Megatron back to the waiting room would be nothing short of blatant sadism, and I was a merciful Crown Prince.

:_Bring him to the Grand Hall._: I ordered. :_There's no point in having him wander aimlessly in my tower and punch fliers for trying to do their jobs._:

:_B-But, Sire, he's not _nearly_ presentable enough to be in your company yet! He hasn't even been—_:

:_Trust me, Striker,_: I huffed through my vents, gaining the curious looks of my trine mates. :_No polish on Cybertron can cure the dullness of his plating._:

:_Affirmative, your Majesty._:

I deactivated my comm., and waited for the arrival of an obviously fragged off Decepticon Lord.

Not even a few kliks later, he strode in through one of the side doors, a nasty snarl on his faceplate. Two Strikers rushed in after him, both looking nervous and jittery, but they were right away shoved into the background as Megatron's optics swept across the hall and met mine. They immediately narrowed, sparking in fury. An audible growl left his clenched dentae, and he stormed toward me, strides large and swift.

"You dare mock me, Starscream!" He bit out before he could even stand before me. His hands were curled into tight fists, and I glanced at them, wings in wary flicks as I skidded backward into the company of my trine mates. At the corners of my optics, Bladeflight halted his conversation with Nightfire. He watched us, optics alert and a frown on his brow ridges.

"I have no idea what you are talking about, Megatron," I replied, voice as even as I could muster, expression unimpressed. "I am certain my subordinates offered you the best hospitality my city can give."

"Don't lie to me, _Seeker_." His arms trembled as he tightened his fists, and I sent them a startled glance. "I expected you to act according to your rank, but I had clearly underestimated the extent of your pettiness." His voice was low, but the force behind it, coupled with the wild flares of his energy field, was quite alarming. My wings twitched, and I felt my optics widen in genuine confusion.

"What do you mean?" I crossed my arms closer around my canopy, and turned a shoulder toward him. "Do you not like the polish my service staff used? There _are_ other options."

"Don't treat me a fool!" He hissed out, one step forward and making me jump back. "I've played ignorant to all insufferable suspicion from your security staff. I'd allowed them to search me and keep me under close watch like an unruly sparkling. I tolerated your fliers' aggravating fawning over my frame, and even allowed _these two_ to order me around." He shot my Strikers a heated glare, and the two instantly cowed. "However, I will _not_ overlook an obvious transgression meant to take a cheap stab at my origins!"

"…Oh…" I shuttered my optics, "Y-You mean your—your…" I stuttered as I gestured vaguely at my helm, and his scowl darkened.

"My mining panels are not for flighty fingers to grab!" He finally lost what little patience he had, and bellowed, silencing my Grand Hall in one angry roar. I flinched, looking away, and berated myself for overlooking a detail when instructing my fliers to take care of our guest. By Vosian court rules, all helmets must be removed in my presence. However, fliers hardly wore helmets, which was why I'd completely forgotten about such a thing.

"Don't be so melodramatic, Megatron." I sneered to mask the nervous shaking of my spark. "It was just a misunderstanding. Stop blowing things out of proportion."

"A misunderstanding? Perhaps." His voice gained a dangerous, gravelly texture as his optics narrowed. "However, I am not only addressing one, singular event." His glare was piercing, like a cold blaze, freezing my spark in its chamber. "Your subordinates would never slight me if their commander has distilled enough importance in their jobs. I have no doubt that, should an Autobot Senator be in my place, _he_ would at least be treated with respect, even _if_ only in pretense."

I was struck speechless, gaping up at him with round optics. My lips parted, but I could not figure out what to say. While I did not explicitly tell my fliers to treat him poorly, I certainly did not insinuate that I'd be bothered if they did. I simply assumed that Megatron's title alone was clue enough for them to give him appropriate handling. However, I had forgotten about the inborn superiority every flier felt toward the ground-based frame type. It certainly did not help that most of my citizens, simply put, were hateful toward grounder pounders, a trait I had encouraged and cultivated myself after the closure of Vos.

Unlike the Autobot Senate, who, though despised, actually held ruling power, Megatron was a common mech, one who had no class to speak of. As far as my citizens were concerned, he came from _Kaon_, and who was ever important having come out of _that_ pit hole? Yes, he was the Commander of the Decepticons, but who were the Decepticons? To the general public, they were little more than a bunch of dirty, spitting savages who came and left without much notice.

Everyone was staring at Megatron and I. Whispers had broken out, and I pressed my lips together, glancing toward Nightfire. He did not meet my gaze, optics downturned. He had a firm hand on one of Bladeflight's wings, to discourage the general from coming to my aid and giving Megatron a piece of his processors. Bladeflight did not know, just as practically everyone else in the Grand Hall, that this insolent ground pounder, in fact, now held commanding power over me.

There was a nudge on my right wing, and I jumped. Thundercracker was prodding me, gesturing me to step forward. Has he _glitched_? I was _not_ about to go within grabbing range of an enraged, mistreated grounder. However, he kept on pushing me, and when I pointedly ignored him, actually gave me a shove. I stumbled forward, a high yelp falling through my lips. I barely caught myself before colliding into Megatron, and snapped my helm around, ready to give my blue trine mate the verbal lashing of his life. However, an urgent jerk of his chin stopped all words from leaving my vocalizer.

Thundercracker stared at me for a full klik before darting his optics in Megatron's direction. His lips were pursed, and he gave his chin another forward jerk. I did not understand right away what he was trying to do, then realization dawned in my processors. He was telling me to initiate, to be the one to start smoothing over matters.

I slowly turned back to Megatron, and glanced up. One look at the thunderstorm on his faceplate was enough to make me wince, wanting to scoot back. I gritted my dentae, very much put off by the idea of seeking forgiveness from another. I never had to apologize for anything, and I was not about to start with a ground pounder.

Everyone always apologized to _me_ whenever something displeasing happened. If they were dissatisfied about an incident, they sought for my audience, asking me to either sort it out for them or give them permission to fix it themselves. I never had to apologize for anything that went wrong in my city. I was authority. I was above law. I was the absolute monarch, the Crown Prince. I was the—

My intakes stopped. My optics widened.

I finally understood Thundercracker's intention.

_I was Megatron's second-in-command_.

No one else in the hall knew aside from my trine mates and Nightfire, but I was breems from making the news known. I could not openly act out of my Decepticon rank right before pledging my loyalty to the Decepticon Commander. That would make me a hypocrite and a joke.

I nibbled on my lips, and shifted on my thrusters.

I had not the faintest clue on how to act like a subordinate.

Megatron had not spoken a word more since he'd stopped. I wondered if he was still seething, and gave him a discreet glance. He looked a little less angry without the snarl, but he was clearly far from being pleased. He'd opted to pin me down with a hard stare sometime during our silence, frame rigid as he stood tall and silent.

I looked up at him, and tried to figure out how to best approach the situation. I was gauging his mood when I noticed a small blob of polish on his plating, half-smeared on one of his shoulders. It hadn't been properly spread out. He'd probably pushed whoever responsible for his shoulder away before the job was finished. The little spot glared. It bothered me to such an extent that I lifted an arm, and, without thinking, pointed straight toward it.

"You have polish on your shoulder."

As soon as I blurted it out, I regretted it. Megatron tensed, and the snarl returned to his faceplate, even more pronounced than before. "_Starscream…_" He growled, optics narrowing to slits of fire. The harsh shadows that resulted were so startling that I visibly flinched, and I flustered, letting out another hasty blurt:

"I—I can rub it out for you!"

Megatron was not the only one surprised by my impulsive idea, but he hid it well. He stared at me for a while, studying my faceplate, before sending a curt huff through his vents and straightening further.

"I will not bow, Starscream." He spoke in a dry, flat voice, but he did not yell.

"You don't have to," I shook my helm, thruster heels making light clicks against the floor as I walked closer. "I can come to you." I said, and engaged my thrusters for a small burst. The force lifted me higher to reach his height, until we were optic to optic. I hovered, in front of him, but I did not know how to proceed, hesitation keeping back the reach of my arms.

He continued to stare, though a curious glint had eased the bite behind his optics. He was still very intimidating though. His energy field had yet lost its simmering anger. I floated closer, speed cautious, and kept a close watch on his expression. His vents were cycling currents of warm air. They tickled my flight sensors, making my wings flick, tiny gestures of the tips.

I was close, very close. With much care and wariness, I placed a hand on his other shoulder, and steadied myself against him. His plating scorched my fingertips, though his chassis burned hotter when my canopy pressed against it. I looked down as our faceplates neared, and focused on the polish instead of the smoldering fire-pits that watched my every move. My cheekplates warmed. My fuel pump quickened. Energon surged through my fuel lines in waves of heat, cooling fans stuttering into activation.

I reached for the glob of polish with a hand that shook, and sank into it the tips of my digits. I slowly rubbed, warming the wax, until its texture was thick and sticky on my derma. I was not doing as a good job. I'd do better if I had a polishing cloth. However, I was careful, kneading the clear, soft substance with gentle strokes. His energy field buzzed against mine, a firm pressure of tingling heat. From my peripheral, I could see him still staring at me. The anger had gone, replaced by an emotion equally passionate.

"My lord…" I whispered, the sound a mere breath against his audial. "Don't…ruin this moment."

He did not reply.

"…Please." My lips brushed against his plating, and I tilted back, optics flickering upward. "For me."

My gaze met his, and his held mine. We continued to look at each other, even when the polish disappeared into his plating, and there was no longer a reason for me to be so close. My fuel pump thumped. My spark shivered. I fought to keep his optics, ones that could unravel and penetrate my core, and I shook, a tremor most prominent in the arch of my wings.

He watched me, and finally, he made a small nod. My vents spluttered in a sigh, and I quickly leaned away, landing a few steps back. Volatile warlord appeased, I turned to my hall, and suddenly found every pair of optics in sight gaping at us, at me. My spark lurched in a startle. Shaking off the fluster, I plastered on a scowl, and jerked up my wings.

"_Why_ is none of you attending to your duties?!" I yelled, energy field whipping out in a flare. "The ceremony is scheduled to begin in less than ten breems and all you can do is stand around like idiots and _stare_?!"

Wings jolted, and frames jumped. There was a loud commotion of fliers apologizing and rushing back to their previous task, none of them daring to cast a single look in my direction. Satisfied with their speedy response, I turned to Thundercracker.

"I don't like where Commander Megatron's seat is placed." I gave my hall a sweep. "Put it next to my throne." I ordered, waving at the raised platform.

Thundercracker bowed. Skywarp grinned. Nightfire averted his optics, and, next to him, Bladeflight stiffened.

"Sire!" The aged flier protested. "I _must_ insist that you reconsider." His wings fanned out. His optics widened. "That platform is reserved for Vosian royalty. _Never _in the entire six Dynasties and all the Ages that followed has a _ground pounder_—"

"Enough!" I cut in. "Do as I say!" I snapped, distaste forming a grimace on my lips. To avoid the expression of shock on my general's faceplate, I sought for Nightfire, and flicked a wing to get his attention.

"Is the banner balanced now?" I asked, fighting to keep my optics focused on my science advisor.

"Affirmative, Sire," Nightfire answered, bowing his helm. Next to him, Bladeflight narrowed a glare at Megatron, the sharp glint of suspicion cold enough to carve grooves. However, Megatron did not acknowledge my general in the slightest. Instead, he tilted up his helm, and took look at the banner that hung above us.

"'_All hail our city. All hail aerial supremacy. All hail Vos._'" He lifted one of his brow ridges. "Is this the Vosian motto?"

"Something like that," I answered, distracted by another thought. Turning to face Megatron, I frowned, somewhat surprised. "You…can read?"

Megatron leveled me a flat stare.

"Not all miners are illiterate, Starscream." He said. "I wrote when I wasn't plowing my way through Cybertron."

"You're a writer?" That instantly piqued my interest.

"I was."

"Do you have any works published?"

"No," He did not look disappointed or regretful. "I didn't have enough surface time to find a publisher."

"Oh."

I did not know what else to say, and silence became awkward.

Skywarp went up to his commander and gave him his proper salutes, to which Megatron nodded in appraisal. The ceremony preparations completed, and I was asked to take a final look at the results. Finding my hall adequately decorated and organized, I gave permission for the proceedings to begin. The service staff left. The guards and the broadcasting teams took their positions. Nightfire and Bladeflight, with a curt bow, left as well, joined by my trine mates.

"Follow me, Megatron," I gestured to one of the side passageways, "We'll make our appearances after everyone else has gotten seated."

"Your border patrol officer has informed me of the procedures, but he was rather vague." He spoke as I led him into the corridor, heading for the waiting chamber. "I am to enter ahead of you, correct?"

"Affirmative," I answered, walking through an arched door. "Attendees are grouped according to their rank and titles." I explained as we arrived at the waiting room. "First is a mass entrance, for the upper noble class. Advisors and militants follow, but they will enter individually. My trine mates will be next, and you are after them. I will be last. My arrival marks the official start of the ceremony."

Megatron nodded as we sat down on the lounging couches. There were large screens on the wall across the chamber, displaying the broadcast from the Grand Hall. They were currently showing the mass entries. Fliers of all frame types and builds filled the screens. There was a low buzz from the speakers, murmurs of my citizens trying to find their seats. It filled the silence that had settled between Megatron and I.

The servants brought out cubes of refined energon, ones that shimmered in fragile, clear cases. They poured it into two crystal glasses, and carefully leveled the glowing fuel before the Stealth Jet of the group brought the drinks on a silver tray. He stopped beside me, and stood with his heels pressed together, helm lowered in a deep bow. He did not move until I took my glass and dismissed him with a wave, steps without a sound as he walked to stand beside Megatron.

The Stealth presented the tray to the Decepticon Lord, chin only slightly dipped. Megatron's brow ridges furrowed slightly, but he said nothing as he wrapped his thick fingers around the stem of the delicate glass. He stared at it as though expecting it to explode just by being in his hand, and merely watched as I took a small sip. "Highgrade right before a royal address to your citizens?" He looked almost amused, optics flashing a little brighter.

"There's nothing wrong with loosening up before joors of sitting," I swirled the energon, and took another sip. "Are you not going to try it?"

His answer was to chuck down the whole thing in one swig. How vulgar. I pursed my lips. He didn't even hold the energon in his mouth to fully appreciate the aroma. He simply gulped it down, and held the glass in front of him. He seemed to be inspecting the glass, which looked downright tiny in his large hand.

"Its coloration and odor suggest that it's highgrade, but it doesn't taste like highgrade at all." He commented after examining the glass.

"Just because it doesn't taste like slag doesn't mean it's not highgrade, Megatron." I scrunched my nose bridge, and sent him a pointed look.

He only chuckled, and set the glass back onto the tray when the Stealth Jet returned to retrieve another serving for him.

"I now understand what you meant when you said you don't drink highgrade from a cube." He murmured, and tilted his helm. His gaze, as it met mine, was almost lazy. His lips quirked up into a barely noticeable smirk, and my wings twitched on my back.

My cheekplates grew warm, and I hastily turned away to sip on my highgrade. Luckily, the Stealth Jet returned, and Megatron was distracted from staring at me. He took his energon, and this time, he did not drink the whole thing at once, only small gulp. He leaned back, settling into the couch to watch the ceremony proceedings. His right knee bumped against my thigh, and my intakes hitched, frame tensing in snap.

My fingers were tight around the stem of the crystal glass. I bit my lips, optics staring wide at the screen, but my processors had frozen, not retaining any information. My mind was solely focused on the small contact on my thigh. The simple, ordinary gesture made my spark flutter, and I hastily drowned down the rest of my glass.

I slammed the glass down onto the tray when the Stealth Jet came to my side, and restrained myself from sneering in self disgust. The Stealth Jet jumped, and immediately apologized before scurrying away. I did not know why he had apologized. He did not either. However, I was too angry at myself to bother pardoning him for some nonexistent mistake.

Since when did such an insignificant brush of plating affect me to such degree? I was supposed to ensnare his affections with my charm so I could manipulate him to my gains, not allow him to surprise me with a bump from his knee. This was the ground pounder who had dared to refuse me an interface, who had taken advantage of honourable Vosian traditions to enslave me to his cause. For Primus's sakes, Megatron did not even have to _do_ anything to make a ridiculously flustered, lovesick Seekerling out of me.

The thought startled. My wings shot up on my back. Lovesick? Where in the pits had that come from? I was plagued by a sickness, a desire that bordered on an unhealthy obsession, but I was definitely not _lovesick_. Besides, I hardly knew this mech. Despite how intimate we had become, I knew nothing about him, nothing about how his innards worked. I did not know what fueled his ambitions, what urged him to overthrow the Autobots. I knew nothing of his past, nor what had triggered him into calculated violence and unfathomable rage.

Not that I _cared_ about such things. I waved aside the Stealth Jet with a huff when he presented me with another glass. I was just bored. After all, a Seeker needed _something_ to think about while his subordinates took their seats.

Pristinus appeared on the screen, light on his steps as he walked gracefully across the floor. Many fliers stood up and bowed as he passed them, expressing their gratitude for his work in finding a cure that had saved Vos's sparklings and younglings. He smiled, slender, pale wings flicking, and nodded his helm before finding his seat. Silently, he sat down beside Stormstrike. The two shared a few quiet words as the next flier landed at the entrance of the Grand Hall.

Bladeflight strode in with his wings stretched to full span, posture purely military. The medals on his chassis shined, glittering under the light alongside his curved canopy. He made his way to the front-most row, and sat down beside Pristinus. The medic turned, and the two shared a smile, though Bladeflight's looked more strained.

Catching what appeared to be worry on the pursed lips, Pristinus reached over a hand. He gave the general's a gentle squeeze, and leaned forward to murmur in the Fighter's audial.

Ramjet then entered, flanked by his trine mates Thrust and Dirge. As they walked toward their designated seats, I turned to Megatron:

"My trine mates will be next. We should start making our way to the upper flight deck."

He nodded, and placed his crystal glass on the tray.

"The Strikers assigned to accompany you should already be there," I explained as we stood from the couch, and headed out the door. "They'll fly you down to the deck leading into the Grand Hall, where you will enter."

We walked through the corridors, and up a flight of stairs.

"After you're seated, I will make my entrance. My speech comes first, then the procession, where every flier in the audience will come up and give me their regards. Once that's finished, I will make another speech, during which I will…make the announcement."

I paused, and sent him a sideways glance. He did not exhibit any outward reaction to my words. I did not know whether that was a good thing or not, so I averted my optics. We rounded a corner, and the flight deck came into view, where two Striker Jets were standing in attention.

"I will then give you a full Vosian bow, and you will ask me to rise, hence confirming the payment of my debt to be your second." I instructed, "You do not need to say anything, or even get up from your seat. I don't want to overwhelm my fliers by active participation from you." I released a gust of air through my vents. "Remember, Megatron, both our cities are watching." I stopped. "This is not the gladiatorial arena." I turned to face him, "You don't need to assert your dominance any more than asking me to rise."

Megatron stopped beside me, and tilted his helm down. Our optics met, and I was momentarily taken back by how brightly his shone.

"I…cannot stress enough just how important this ceremony is, not only to me, but to all of my fliers," I looked up at him, voice hushed and hands in tight fists by my sides. "Everything must go smoothly," I peered into his optics, "That means no improvisations, Megatron. _No surprises_." I emphasized, syllables heavy and curt.

Megatron looked back at me, silent for several kliks. "My intention is not to surprise you, Starscream." He said, tone oddly light, and, without another word, walked toward the Striker Jets. I watched him disappear from my sight as my Strikers took him to the Grand Hall. He was up to something. I knew he was, but what could I do when he had never done anything for anyone but himself? Scowling and cursing in my processors, I glared out at the horizon. There was nothing for me to do now but to wait for my cue.

I could hear the low murmur of my fliers as they conversed quietly with each other. It dropped to silence all of a sudden, and I could only assume that it was due to Megatron's appearance. A long moment passed. One could hear the ticking of internal chronometers. There was a sustained note of anticipation, and then came Thundercracker's voice, ringing loud and clear in the Grand Hall:

"All rise." He announced, and a unified sound of mechs standing from their seats followed. "Here be our Crown of State, heir to the Throne, monarch of Vos, and sovereign of the Golden Age:

"Crown Prince Starscream, Wing of our Sun, Tenth Spark of our Holy Creator."

I walked forward, wings stretching up, and stepped off the take-off deck.

Wind howled past my audials. I fell, ped-first. The flight deck of the Grand Hall rushed toward me, and I engaged my thrusters, a small burst that slowed my descent and allowed me to land without a sound. I strode down the central aisle, back straight and wings displayed in full span. All optics were on me as I made my way to my throne, but I paid them no acknowledgement, despite how my spark reveled in the attention. I did not spare anyone a single glance, not even Megatron, as I glided up the stairs to the platform. I turned, a swift pivot on my thrusters, and faced the assembly of my fliers before taking my seat.

"All hail Prince Starscream!" Thundercracker, from his spot in the front row beside Skywarp, called out. All fliers followed, and bowed low until their wings were in full view, the perfect expression of subservience.

"Rise," I ordered, "and be seated."

Silence reigned in the grand chamber after the attendees took their seats.

Every spark in Vos waited for my speech with rapt attention.

I took a cycle of air through my intakes system, allowing its cool touch to soothe my tingling sensors. With a beat of a pause, I tilted up my chin, and began my address:

"Citizens and friends of Vos," My voice echoed in the Grand Hall, "as your Crown Prince and your co-commander, I, Starscream, bid you greetings."

Attentive silence hung in the air as my words faded. From the corners of my optics, I could see the floating cameras, blinking as they broadcasted my image all over my city and Kaon.

"I bid you greetings," My optics roamed over the crowd, "with pride, happiness, and adoration," I paused briefly, "But also with sadness.

"Every cycle since the Autobot attack, I look out my tower. I see impressive progress, worthy of the efforts our scientific teams, medics, and construction teams have made in patching the wounds of our city and its proud inhabitants. I see brave fliers of all frame types, civilian and military, giving their best to stay strong during this time of tragedy.

"Vos has, as I'd promised, prevailed. Our victory is well-earned and deserved," I nodded at my generals. "However," I looked over the crowd, "our losses…" My helm dipped, "are also great."

I allowed the silence to brew.

"I send my deepest condolences to all of you, to all Cybertronians who have lost family unit members, friends, and comrades."

I gave my words time to sink in, waiting a few beats before lifting my helm back up.

"Every cycle begins anew – that much is true. However, our sparks remain heavy with grief." I made optic-contact with all fliers present. "On every faceplate, I see uncertainty, sorrow, and fear for what is to come. More battles loom on the horizon. The threat of losing more loved ones hover in our sight. The Autobot suppression of freedom and change is heavy on our wings, their fleets a hostile threat in our sky as acid rain clouds. So—

"_How_…do we move on?"

I kept my gaze firm, before lowering my optics.

"The same question plaguing your sparks troubles mine."

There was a tangible weight between the pillars. It pressed down on my flight sensors. The silence stretched longer. Not a single flier moved, though many pairs of wings had started to tremble. My fingers tightened around the armrests of my throne. I looked up, optics sweeping past the crowd as I continued my speech:

"The answer is, perhaps, cruel, but simple." My expression hardened. "We _move on_, with the knowledge that their deaths are not in vain. They have paved the beginning of a New Age for Cybertron with their energon and sparks. They have sacrificed their lives, to show us the direction our paths must take to seize our birthrights and victory.

"The riches of our planet are not for only a selected few. _Why_ should we give up what we were sparked to deserve? The Autobot Senate's greed and abuse of power had led us to imprisonment within our own walls – a willing prison, but a prison nonetheless. And when we refuse to be victims of their festering incompetence, they try to annihilate us!" My hands clenched. My voice gained a heated timbre.

"_Cybertron_ is _our home_, my citizens and friends, but Vos is our only haven. This is unforgivable!" My optics narrowed in determination. "As your Crown, your Leader of State, I refuse to let the Autobots rob your riches from you! I will no more submit to their tyranny. I will no longer permit leniency toward their actions. I will _not_ allow them to anymore withhold your destiny of ruling the sky of Cybertron as you, my people, deserve!"

My words rang in the large chamber. Every pair of optics shined. Every pair of wings held straight. My spark swelled, and my cooling fans clicked on, quiet whirrs to soothe my heating system. I could see Megatron watching me from his seat, now by my side. I could not tell what emotions flickered across his faceplate, but his focus on my speech thrilled me, an indefinite exhilaration.

"The arrival of a New Age is inevitable." I took deep cycle of air. "Upon its arrival, Vos will stand united. _We_ will stand united!

"With the help of our allied faction," I tilted my helm toward Megatron, giving him a small nod, "of mechs who have fought and died to protect us as one of our own," Our optics met, and I was taken, for a moment distracted, by how brightly they shone, "We will _fight_, for not only our city, but for our home, our planet, Cybertron!" I turned back to my fliers, my citizens loyal to my rule.

"I will lead you, as the beholder of your faith and your sworn allegiance," I let go of the armrests, and opened my arms, "to _glory_."

Silence held, moments after the last reverberation of my voice had dissolved into the air. It wasn't until I curled my digits and brought back my arms did my fliers respond, a minor bow of the helm and lowering of the wing tips. There was no verbal reaction needed. After all, this was not a rally, but a royal ceremony.

Speech finished, I sat back on my throne, and finally allowed the tension in my wing joints to ease. Despite the quiet, I could feel the energy fields from the crowd, pulsing as one and filling the hall. I had their support, which I was extremely grateful for. I needed it to remain strong as they were when I make my final speech, the official announcement of Vos falling under Decepticon rule.

I cast a fleeting glance down at Bladeflight, who seemed to have relaxed a little since the beginning of the ceremony. The old Fighter Jet general was not going to take the news lightly. After all, he had worn the Royal Seal of Vos on his wings for longer than I have existed.

Thundercracker stood up from his seat, and signaled the procession to begin. Flier after flier came up to me, stopping at the foot of the stairs, and bowed, speaking a few words or simply expressing their thanks. They all brought presents, which the guards cleared to the side of the hall. Most did not address Megatron, some giving him glances, some ignoring him altogether.

Only the top officers, for diplomatic reasons, acknowledged his presence. Skywarp was the most enthusiastic, saluting and giving Megatron a chipper hello. Thundercracker and Nightfire both bowed, but neither waited for clearance before rising. Bladeflight and Stormstrike nodded at the Decepticon Commander, the gesture curt and brief. Ramjet was the only one of all generals to speak, a lilting "not bad for a ground pounder" coupled with a small smirk. Pristinus only gave Megatron a once over, and pursed his lips. Whatever he saw, he was very displeased with, not that I could blame him. After all, there was much to be displeased about, and I was not a medic.

One joor went on to become two. My aft was getting sore from the sitting. My wings started to swing back and forth to quell my rising boredom, and I leaned on a hand, nodding and waving when appropriate. As great as watching my subordinates glorify me was, after a while, everything became the same. Flier after flier came up, and they all had the same giddiness, whether from excitement or nervousness. Eventually, I took to examining their paintjobs and guessing what they did for a living. Hardly something royalty should do, but a Seeker got to find ways to entertain himself somehow.

The last flier, a Cargo Shuttle, gave his regards. His present was carried away, and he left after a low bow. As he took his seat, my spark began to strum. My fuel tank made a silent, but nervous churn, and my fuel pump quickened to an audible trot. The time to address my newly gained servitude had come. Pushing down the need to squirm, I took several cycles of air to calm myself, and began the sealing of my fate:

"My fellow Vosians, I humbly thank you for your words of encouragement, your unconditional devotion, and your many valuable gifts. Without your courage and determination in face of danger, Vos would not be standing as a free, independent city-state to celebrate victory this cycle. Our soldiers had fought valiantly. No Autobots hovercrafts remained functional by the end of battle. However…"

I fought the urge to sigh.

"Our freedom, and independence…would not be here, if the Decepticon forces had not aided us during our time of need."

My optics swept across the audience. While my fliers were silent, many of them looked confused, not knowing how to take my words. Most civilians did not know the extent of Decepticon involvement. Even military officers, while aware of ground support, did not know how much my city owed to the Decepticons, or more specifically, to the ex-gladiator sitting beside me. I inwardly cursed, biting back my indignation and aching pride. Keeping my real thoughts hidden, I plastered on a smile, and continued to speak:

"Our Decepticon brethren arrived in the heat of battle. They kept the Autobots from soiling our sacred ground. Many towers had fallen, but many more would have met their ends had our comrades from Kaon not arrived when they did."

I had to be very careful to prevent bitterness from leaking into my voice. Sacred ground? What sacred ground? Autobot or not, grounders had crawled all over my city.

"Many lives were saved, thanks to their timely arrival, and for that, I am eternally grateful…" I fought to keep my optics onlined, "…to have_ had_ allies as dependable and formidable as they are."

More than a few fliers noticed my strange usage of tense. They shared bewildered looks, unsure of how to understand it. However, despite the flickering of optics, they did not speak. I did not meet their gazes for long, opting to stare out the hall instead.

"There is…one more matter I need to address, my citizens and—" I had to pause, my next words refusing to leave my vocalizer willingly, "…Decepticon comrades."

My hands clenched around the arm rests, fingers digging into the cushions.

"During our efforts at defeating the Autobots, efforts which were justly repaid, I had—…_carelessly_, allowed myself to become…" My lips curled, "grounded."

My gaze dropped, and I lowered my helm.

"…_Stranded_…" My brow ridges furrowed, "against Autobot assailants."

Not a single intakes system disturbed the silence, a still, frozen body of water that had chilled the air inside the Grand Hall. My wings twitched. My spark grew heavy. I felt the weight of every pair of optics, bearing into me in undoubtedly surprise and disappointment.

"I had rescued a Seeker sparkling from our enemy, but in the process…" I shifted, "I had lost my ability of flight." I stared into my lap, shame toward my failure a sore pinch in my spark. "By military protocol, no grounded flier is retrieved until the end of the battle." My voice rippled across the deadly silent chamber. It was weak, lonely and insignificant. "I would have deactivated…had it not been—…the mech you see sitting beside me."

I offlined my optics, and waited for an uproar. To my surprise, not a single flier uttered one word. They must've been too stunned, too overwhelmed, to say anything.

"The Decepticon Commander," I continued after much effort, "saved my spark from extinguishing at Autobot hands." I tried to straighten, having sagged under the weight of my humiliation and indignity. "As such," I dared to look up, optics fleeting, "I…am," My wings quivered, "indebted to him."

Silence. That was the worst.

I caught a brief glance of Bladeflight. His expression was so utterly blank that a deep chill soaked through my spark in an instance. The Fighter Jet's back and wings were so straight that I almost worried his joints would snap. I took a small, cautious cycle of air, and mustered all my determination to carry on with my speech.

"…I must repay that debt according our custom," I said, "one that binds you just as well as I."

With a push much harder than it looked, I stood up from my throne. In reflex, all fliers stood up as well, though most of them clearly did not register the movement. I walked forward, steps heavy and slow. It was nothing short of a miracle that my knee joints did not buckle, and carried me to the stairs.

My posture was proud. My movement was measured and clean. I did not fidget, disciplinary training from my youngling vorns taking pilot while my spark skidded inside my chassis. I descended the stairs, taking each step with care. I counted my paces until I was right at the midpoint between the stairs and the first roll of seats, optics peering down the central aisle.

I turned around, and kept my helm low. I took many cycles of air, and, finally, found the resolve to force up my chin.

My optics met Megatron's. My wings involuntarily twitched on my back. My knee joints grew weak, but I kept standing, surprising even myself with my strength of will.

The commanding presence, overwhelming charisma with an iron fist, slammed down against my frame. Megatron was watching my every move, attention pinning me down, and I shivered, a tingle not quite anxiousness ghosting over my neural network. My intakes made small, hitching sounds. My hands were by my sides, limp and shaky. He was studying every emotion that floated across my faceplate, and I was helpless to stop him, unable to escape. I was caught, bare and exposed. His optics grabbed me by the spark, stirring awake trickles of heat deep inside my core.

"…Decepticon Commander—…_Lord_ Megatron…" My voice quivered. His optics flashed, and my wings jerked as though he had mercilessly pinched their sensitive tips. The thought sent a blazing wave of desire drenching every crevice of my frame. I tensed, freezing to stillness, and was horrified when the sensor nodes in my valve prickled with the first sign of arousal.

"Lord Megatron…" I repeated, voice starting to waver. My vents stuttered, cooling fans whirring as my temperature began to rise. Heat gathered in my cheekplates, until they were blistering to touch. My optics met his, and I knew, inherently, that they must have been every bit as bright as his were.

"As expression of gratitude and repayment of your timely aid…"

My words rippled across the silence, the silence that was no longer cold.

"I, Starscream, Crown Prince of Vos and Wing of Cybertron…

"…pledge my allegiance…

"…_undying_…"

My hands rose. My fingertips brushed my canopy, right over my spark. They gestured outward, in time with the sweeping back of my right ped. With minimum of flourish, I knelt down on one knee, and bowed my helm, optics lowered to the floor. My arms stretched out to my sides, in true Vosian tradition. They held parallel to the length of my wings, presenting them to the one who would claim them.

With one smooth movement, I had submitted myself, completely, to Megatron's leadership.

My wings were now his to rule. They belonged to him, as did every part of my frame. I was his to direct, his to send out to battle, and his to mark. I would fly for him, and allow him to etch his badge right into the plating of my wings should he wished it. I was his to command, and the thought, incomprehensively yet undeniably, left a burning thrill through my sensory lines.

There was no immediate reaction to my announcement, but my trine mates were quick to lead the way. I knew they were the firsts to kneel in a similar fashion. They did what their trine leader told them regardless of my lineage. As they lowered to the ground, all other citizen under my rule snapped out of their stupor. With a rumbling commotion of movements, every flier in my Grand Hall knelt down, bowing to a single ground pounder. Low and vulnerable on the ground, I wondered, briefly, how a miner like Megatron could have gotten so far.

He had yet asked me to straighten, so I did not. I would remain kneeling as long as he wished, for without clearance, he could keep me down for joors, and I would be bound by tradition to do so. However, he was not so sadistic. I heard him stand from his seat, and waited for his address.

To my surprise, he did not speak. He walked forward – I could hear him – and travelled down the stairs. I frowned, optics wide and hands trembling as I held them in position.

What in the pits was he doing?

Had I not told him that I would not tolerate any surprises?

His peds appeared, just on the upper edge of my vision. My intakes hitched to a stop, and I stared at them, trying to discern from their position what their owner was about to do. They remained still, and a prickling sensation told me that he was watching my bent-over form. I heard his joints as he moved, but I could not tell what he was doing until a firm pressure stroked right against my right wing, and sensation burst, an explosion of heat like the formation of a star.

I almost jumped. My wings startled, jerking violently. I bit down on my dentae, and said nothing as he rubbed my wing with his fingers. His digits caressed responsive neural nodes, and my sensor network fired in pleasure until it took all of my will power to prevent myself from leaning into his touch.

"I will hold you to your word, Starscream," His rough, growling voice was almost a purr. "I expect nothing less than your complete devotion and obedience to my command." He said, hand still pressed against my wing.

"A—Affirmative, my lord," I whispered. I was not brave enough to speak any louder, but he hummed in approval nonetheless.

"I have a present for you as well, Seeker," His hand lifted, and I bit my glossa to stop a whine of protest at the loss of contact. He took a step back, and, to my utter, disbelieving shock, _knelt down_ right before me. I did not move, no matter the burning curiosity. I waited, patient wearing thinner by the klik as I heard him move, followed by the soft clink of something taken out of subspace.

A pendant dropped down into my view, dangling from a chain. My optics widened. It was the Decepticon badge, the one he had worn as a gladiator back in the arena. It glinted, reflecting the light inside my Grand Hall. Megatron unraveled the chain, and draped it over my neck in great care, the back of his hand brushing against my neck cables.

It was heavier than I had anticipated, a prominent weight hanging in the air.

Unable to stop myself, I lifted my helm, and stared at him, optics round and lips slightly parted. He looked back, and, despite his guarded expression, his gaze was almost soft, one that did not penetrate but held. He cupped his hands around my faceplate, and guided me to stand as he got up himself. "Now," His voice was quiet and deep, but it carried, easily:

"You are mine."

…

I…couldn't speak.

His optics glowed.

I was certain he had begun to smile before he remembered to smooth it into a mere tilt of his lips.

"Starscream, Crown Prince of Vos," He announced, hands still cradling my faceplate, "Decepticon air commander and second-in-command." His fingertips tickled as they brushed against my neck cables, and my cheekplates burned hotter, intakes a breath of a gasp.

"…_My Seeker_." He spoke so softly, voice so hushed that I had almost missed it, the gentlest whiff of sound against my auditory receptors.

My spark thumped inside my chassis. The pendant was cool and heavy against my canopy. I offlined my optics. His gaze had turned too deep, seeing too much of me, as I had forgotten how to keep my thoughts and sentiments from emerging to the surface.

My lips quivered.

I spoke, hushed, just like him.

"Yes…" I said, "My lord…"

It was then, that split moment in time, when an entirely foreign emotion blossomed like melting warmth inside my spark. It was stronger, more affecting than even the scorching heat of corporal longing.

I did not dare acknowledge it. I could only snuff it down before it could overtake my being.

It was the one emotion I could not afford to feel toward him.

…This ground pounder, my Lord, who had claimed me so completely.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes:<strong> And now, perhaps, the reason behind the title becomes a little more apparent. :')

Here's something to listen to if you want a gist of how things are going to go:

w w w ( d o t ) youtube ( d o t ) c o m / watch?v=hD38QAEZZqg

Don't know if anyone's noticed, but today is actually exactly one year since I'd started posting "Insatiable"! Yayy! :D To my lovely reviewers, the sincerest thanks. Your continuous support and kind words really mean a lot to me. I look forward to hearing from you every chapter, and I greatly appreciate your efforts at letting me know what you think.

To _Suki-Angel91494_, _lildevchick_, _Devlinn Reiko_, _Random523_, _The-writing-Mew_, _Starcee138_, _Balrog Roike_, _Deathtomushrooms_, _doubleports_, _Ashcola17_, _alien90210_, _Cjade_, _Guest_, _heretherebemonsters_, _Skylark Starflower_, _Cloud Kitsune17_, _Mizz Arcee_, _loverofmythology_, _6MissSparklez9_, _Guest_ (#2: Thank you for the concern for my well-being! I'm not going to let it discourage me. -salutes back-), _Krazed Jetformer_, _Uurrusistabul_, _Anonymouse_, _remy_, _KrazyMusician_, _Shadowlover1222_, and _Miss Kayla Kaon_, thank you so, so much for your encouragements, and also for sticking with this story until now and trusting me to know where I'm going. "Insatiable" is long, but I promise you: I'm going to give my utmost best to make sure it's a worthwhile read.

Please let me know of your feedback! I love reviews. Who doesn't, really? ;)

Much love to you all!


	19. XIX

Disclaimer: Refer to last chapter?

**Warning:** Edited in two days, so please excuse anything I might've missed; there are also some of me pretending to know science. I apologize if anything sounds odd. XD

Please enjoy!

* * *

><p>XIX<p>

"I hate him."

I hissed through clenched dentae, and punched at the console as I entered lines upon lines of codes.

"I absolutely _despise_ him."

I spat out, biting my jaw joints and glaring at the screen displaying an aerial alt-mode.

"I hate him with all my spark, you hear me?!" I shouted as I worked. "There isn't a single wire inside him that doesn't repulse my very being!" I hit the buttons on the console so hard that my fingers hurt, wings trembling and fury radiating with the flare-out of my energy field.

"How _dare_ he." I snarled, optics narrowing. "How _dare_ he allow that slagheap _molest_ me with his filthy hands?!" My fingers curled. My fists shook. "Such utter humiliation will _not_ go unpunished." I gritted out, joints straining with tension. "I will make him _pay_ for _every_ _transgression_ he's ever _dared_ to commit against my person!"

I slammed my fists down on the console, and shot up from my seat. The chair clattered to the floor. The noise pierced the silence, bouncing between the walls before fading into the quiet hum of machinery. As I cycled gulps of air and fumed, no one in the room made a single sound. They remained completely silent, not wanting to draw any attention to themselves, a very wise choice considering my current mood.

Just _thinking_ about the previous cycle made me nauseas with anger, or better yet, eager to destroy an Autobot city all by myself. I was certain if something else did not explode then, _I_ would, spark a swirling furnace. I sent another seething glare at the model of an unfinished proto-type of a modified Striker Jet, and clenched tighter my jaws. Frustration was fuel for my boiling rage. It erupted, a shriek followed by hurling fists at the console keyboard.

"Aaaarrgh-Stupid schematics—Why won't you work?! _Why_?! Why do you have to be so slagging difficult?! Like that scrap-helm bucket-aft! Why?! _Why—?!_"

I punched and kicked at the console, unleashing the entire spectrum of my explosive rage. I assaulted the machine as though it could feel my wrath, and got angrier when all it did was emit tiny beeps. Urgent pedfalls reached my audials, and not a klik later, arms tore me from my victim. "Y-Your Highness," Nightfire's voice was a mere whisper compared to my screaming, "Please remain calm!"

"Calm?! _Calm?!_" I could feel my optics flash as I thrashed and bucked and swore up a storm. "You have no idea what he did to me! No idea! You have no idea!" I yelled. I swung my legs, and struggled in his arms, which remained clamped around my torso despite my exertions. I kicked at the air until my peds were completely perpendicular to the floor, and pawed at my scientific advisor's arms, fingers digging into the plating.

"Please, Sire!" Nightfire cried out, yanking me away to keep me from harming the equipment, "You're—You're overheating!"

No slag.

I growled.

I was fragged off! Of course I was overheating!

Mouth falling wide open, I offlined my optics, and screamed. It was high-pitched, shrill, and painful, even to my own audials, but I did not give a slag. I must have blown something important in my system, possibly an inhibitor of some sort in my emotion center. I have never been so angry in my entire existence, spark overfull and spilling with molten, spiking rage.

There was a yelp, and the frame behind me jumped. Nightfire was undoubtedly in agony as I blared like a siren, volume and pitch battling to rise above each other. I was vaguely aware of running footsteps and hushed voices asking what had happened to me, but they barely registered. I only continued to screech, whipping my limps about and pushing my vocalizer capacity to new heights that none had done so before.

Until a hand slapped over my mouth.

My optics onlined in a flash.

Nightfire…

…had _dared_…

…to _cover my mouth_!

The—The sheer audacity!

Did he not know he was hindering my spark-rights?! My _designation_ is Star_scream_, for pit's sakes! Not Star—let's-be-quiet-and-sulk-like-a-normal-Cybertronian!

I shrieked harder, and made even more aggressive efforts to free myself. I must have done so for a very long time, because when I finally tired myself out, every joint in my frame was sore, and my vocalizer ached like a shot from my null rays.

Groaning, I hung limp in Nightfire's arms. The Space Shuttle waited, and did not release me until he was finally convinced that I would not start again as soon as he were to let go. He picked up my discarded chair, and placed me back into it. I flopped forward, helm and arms flat against the surface of the console. I heard him sigh. A moment later, tentative digits started to rub small circles on my twitching wings.

There were murmurs asking if I was alright, but Nightfire dismissed them. Everyone else left by the Space Shuttle's instruction, and silence settled, interrupted only by my spluttering vents. "…I was _humiliated_!" I blurted out, lips quivering as shame and hurt replaced the evaporating anger. Nightfire did not reply right away. His hands paused, hovering as though he was confused.

"You mean…" He asked, "Just now…?"

I growled low in my chassis.

"_No_, you aft!" I snapped, wings jerking upright and smacking into his hands. "I meant last cycle!"

"Oh…" Nightfire said, and I huffed through my vents.

"Oh? That's it? _Oh_?" I sneered, tone bitter and terse. "I was shoved faceplate down to the ground and forced to endure unspeakable perversions and all you can say as my everlasting, faithful advisor is 'oh'?!"

Nightfire's hands returned to my wings. He did not reply at first, but there was a small, muffled splutter.

He was laughing at my miserable expense.

I gave a snarl of a warning. Not that doing so stopped him. The laughter burst, and he managed to slip in an apology, squeezing gently around the edges of my wings.

"Come now, Star." He said as he calmed down. "Perversions? That's a bit harsh, don't you think?"

If he was trying to comfort me, it was not working.

"That's exactly what it was!" I retorted heatedly, "How would I know if that monotoned frag-box didn't pry all of my deepest secrets from my processors while he smeared his fat, disgusting fingers all over my wings?!"

"He was applying paint, Star, not groping your helm." Nightfire replied evenly. His utter lack of sympathy toward my woes was downright infuriating.

"He's a fragging telepath! He doesn't _need_ to _grope_ me to read my thoughts!" I shouted, and punctuated my statements with a slam of a fist.

Nightfire made a soft hum. As he thought of a response, his fingers reached my wing tips, and kneaded down in a small pinch.

My intakes hitched. I let out a choked back squeal, back erecting to an arch.

"I'm sorry," Nightfire hurried to rub my wing tips. "Did I hurt you?"

I hastily shook my helm, and bit down on my dentae. His rubbing seared my neural nodes, leaving tingles of heat that spread and pooled at a place completely inappropriate to his intentions. I did not dare say anything in case I accidentally exposed my reaction to his touch. I held my glossa, and squirmed as I waited out the yearning burn in my spark, swallowing down the urge to ask him to pinch me harder.

"Well," Nightfire, oblivious to my inner torment, continued to speak in that low, lecturing tone of his, "You should be relieved to know then, your Majesty, that his 'perversions' had nothing to do with trying to dig for your secrets." Nothing could put a damper on things faster than the mention of Soundwave. "If he doesn't need to be in physical contact with you to exercise his telepathic abilities," Nightfire's voice held a smile, "then there's no reason for him to do so just to get you suspicious, is there?"

Grumbling about his stupid logic, I quieted down, and allowed myself to enjoy his attention on my wings. With Skywarp distracted by his Decepticon buddies and Thundercracker busy placating an unhappy Vos, I was left without trine mates to tend to the cricks in my wing joints. Thankfully, I had a Space Shuttle friend, who'd gladly take over these neglected duties while my Seekers were preoccupied. The past several cycles had been tough. I was surprised I'd made it this far before lashing out in anger.

I heaved a deep sigh through my vents, and offlined my optics, resting my helm on my folded arms. I needed a moment, a break, overwhelmed as I have been by both Vosian and Decepticon responsibilities. It was tedious work, trying to figure out where my generals and soldiers stood in the Decepticon army. On top of that, Megatron has been pressuring me to finish second-alt designs for Blitzwing, not to mention shoving data pad after data pad at me to read. Most of them contained boring text files explaining Decepticon philosophy and codes of conduct. They were not the highlight of my cycles, but they did help when I had trouble falling to recharge.

Why in the pits would gladiators and criminals need codes of conduct anyways? What was the point when such rules will only end up being disobeyed? And who did Megatron get to write these dry, lengthy files?

I bet Shockwave was behind them. They were just as boring and unimaginative as he was, the one-opticked fragger.

My own fliers did not make the transference of power any less stressful. Civilians aside, my advisors have been very verbal to the change, expressing without trouble how displeased they all were. While Nightfire and Skywake, my director of Commerce, did not press their opinions, others were not so compliant. Bladeflight had been the most vocal, dead-set on the belief that Megatron was exploiting Vosian tradition. The aged Fighter Jet was convinced that the Decepticon Lord had a ploy which would inevitably harm Vos, and he was not the only one holding to such suspicion. They all shut up and held their glossae when I told them to, just as they should. However, I was well aware that there was more to come from their distrusting sparks.

I knew they all had the best of intentions, especially Bladeflight, since he undoubtedly worried about me, but I was not a sparkling anymore. I could take care of myself and my citizens.

Now, if only Megatron would stop being a slagger and start treating me like a proper second-in-command…

The memory file of last cycle's events resurfaced, and I bit back a groan. I wanted to forget about it, but it stayed, stubborn like a certain aft who had a bucket for a helm. Everything began innocently enough. Megatron asked me to go to Kaon for my official "coronation" as air commander and his second, which was surely a joke, since I was being demoted if anything, from the supreme ruler of a city-state to some ex-gladiator's subordinate. After a speech from Lord Slagger himself, more boring things happened, and before I knew it, I was being pressed down on the floor so that _Soundwave_ could slather his dirty hands all over me!

I had only protested in mild bursts when the proposition of Soundwave painting my wings came up. If anyone were to mark me, it had to be Megatron, not his creepy, tone-less underling. What absurdity was Megatron sprouting from his rusted processors anyways? I deserved better. When I told him such, his response as the generous, almighty leader of the Decepticons was to shove me faceplate down to the ground just to endure the utter humiliation of being gawked at while Soundwave stabbed at my plating with a brush! What in the pits?!

Why couldn't _Megatron_ paint my wings?

The answer was simple.

He could not paint.

What the frag?!

It was a _symbol_. Not a life-sized portrait of Sentinel Prime's deactivated aft. One did not need to be _Sunstreaker_ to paint four Decepticon symbols onto wings!

Just thinking about it made me want to give the fragger two scorch marks courtesy of my null rays. As if sensing my once again rising ire, Nightfire ran his fingers down my wings, and massaged the joints. The bubbling irritation was immediately gone, dissolving as I became too distracted by how wonderful it felt to have my wings cared for.

"…I _really_ hate him…" I murmured into my arms, cycles of air even and deep.

"I'm glad to hear that." I could imagine Nightfire smiling behind me as he pinched along the bottom edges of my wings. "I'd worry a lot less if you do."

Before I could ask him what he meant, a ping from my comm.-link lit up.

:_Yes?_: I took the request without much thought.

:_Starscream,_: Megatron's voice came through, :_Status report. When will Blitzwing's second-alt designs be ready?_:

I groaned, and buried my faceplate deeper into my arms as though they could hide me from Lord Slagger's pestering. For the love of Primus, he nagged more than a glitching, overprotective carrier.

:_Can't you leave me alone for one cycle?_: I shot back. I was not whining, definitely not. :_I don't need checking up on, Megatron! As I'd already told you numerous times last cycle: I will contact you once I'm done, so stop asking!_:

:_You clearly require constant supervision if you have yet shown me any result. It's been deca-cycles, Starscream. Your lack of progress is hardly reassuring. Shockwave has made many breakthroughs in his research, and he is not my second-in-command._:

I growled. What the frag was his problem?!

:_Need I remind you, all-knowing leader,_: I sneered, :_that I've only been your second-in-command for six cycles! _And_ I have a city to run, unlike that uninspired _Shockwave_. What's _he_ accomplished? How to express oneself with only one optic?_:

:_I do not appreciate your sarcasm, Starscream._:

:_Then stop comm.-ing me!_:

:_I do not appreciate you behaving like a sparkling either._:

:_Maybe if you'd stop treating me like a sparkling and annoying me when I'm trying to work, I can give you some result!_: With a huff, I pushed off the console to sit up, and onlined my optics.

:_Starscream…_: His voice gained a warning edge, but I only scoffed.

Oooooh, big bad Megatron who was all the way in his dingy little base in Kaon was getting irritated, how terrifying.

:_Look, I'm almost there, alright?_: I glanced over the screen, and answered snappishly. :_I just hit a snitch, but if you'd only stop pinging me every single joor and actually let me work, I can figure it out by the end of the cycle latest. I will comm. you when I have the first prototype._:

:_Good. I expect a report before then._: With that, he ended our call.

I was left speechless, staring wide-opticked at the screen.

Ugh! How rude!

My optics narrowed.

That was _it_! I would have to make extra sure that an accident was going to happen in Vos, hence rendering me unable to accomplish my task by the end of the cycle. That would show him to treat me in such a manner.

Pleased with my decision, I reached for the keyboard to save my work. I was more than ready to leave my tower for a brief flight around the city. Nightfire's hands paused in their rubbing. I did not need to turn to know a frown had appeared on his faceplate.

"Sire?" He inquired, "I thought…we were going to work on the design for the remainder of the cycle."

"Oh I'm sure _something_ will turn up that will require my attention away from the monitors, so I might as well take a break before it happens." I answered with a chirpy, playful lilt, a small smirk on my lips.

"Your Highness…" There it was: Nightfire's tone of disapproval. "Be it not my place to question your decision, but…you are our Crown, our representative to the ground pounders. Perhaps we should finish the design, and then take a break?" When I glanced over my shoulder to give him a glare, he smiled, and leveled me with a beseeching look.

"After all," He explained, "We don't want to give the impression that we Vosians don't keep our word, correct?"

Damn, he was right.

Stupid Nightfire.

I groaned for the countless time during the cycle, and turned my optics back on the design.

He was right. I should not behave like a sparkling just because Megatron thought I behaved like a sparkling. I would show that rust bucket to doubt my credentials as an accomplished scientist. If anything, I was definitely a better scientist than _Shockwave_.

Determination renewed, I perked up in my seat, and reached for the keyboard.

"Nightfire, do a virtual test-run on prototype two-A." I instructed, and my scientific advisor bowed before returning to his console.

"Affirmative, your Highness," He smiled as he answered, taking his seat in front of the monitor.

Several trials later, we finally found a design that should, theoretically, be able to carry Blitzwing's grounder weight and frame. After much bragging to Megatron, we scheduled a meeting for Blitzwing to try out the schematics. I had not been so actively involved in a scientific pursuit for a very long time, so naturally, when the cycle arrived, I was very excited.

Skywarp teleported Thundercracker, Nightfire, and I into the Decepticon base, where Megatron, Soundwave, Shockwave, and Blitzwing were waiting. Peds touching new, foreign ground, I looked around, and recognized the place as a training arena. There were several ground pounders sitting on the risers, but they did not speak, only giving our group curious glances. Not one deterred by onlookers, I straightened my back, and spread out my wings so that they would catch all the light in the large chamber.

"I hope you've prepared proper rewards, Megatron," I sauntered toward the ex-gladiator, a haughty, pleased smirk on my lips. "What I have accomplished with my scientific unit is nothing short of pure ingenuity. A _breakthrough_, if you will," I sent Shockwave a flicker of a look, "of innovation, creativity, and hard work." My wings flicked higher. "All of which are essential qualities of utmost importance for an accredited scientist."

"Your devotion to the bettering of our cause is minimum requirement, my Second," Megatron replied, voice flat and severely lacking the awe I deserved. "Why should I reward you for doing what is expected?"

Pleasantry gone in a jerk of a wing, I stopped right in front of Lord Slagger, and felt my smirk drop to a scowl. However, before I could tell him exactly where to stuff his "minimum requirement", a certain purple mono-optic cut in:

"If I may speak, Lord Megatron," The yellow bulb blinked as Shockwave tilted his helm in a gesture of inquiry. Upon Megatron's slight nod of consent, he carried on, turning his attention to me, much to my discomfort. "What we are about to witness is indeed very remarkable. I am curious, and most eager to be present at the unraveling of what can quite possibly be the most significant and revolutionary advancement in modern Cybertronian science."

Well, for a mono-optic, he sure knew how to properly appreciate what he sees. I puffed up my chassis. My wings perked higher. The proud smirk began to reemerge.

"I will decide how significant Starscream's work is after he shows us just what he has done." Megatron gave me a hard stare, and my smirk wilted.

"Just because _you_ are an uneducated dolt does not mean everyone else has to stoop to your level, Megatron." A familiar sneer formed on my faceplate. It had an exceptionally high appearance rate whenever I was in the company of the infuriating ex-gladiator.

Megatron's optics narrowed a little in warning, but I only huffed, and looked away.

"…Perhaps I should give Blitzwing one last scan before we start, your Highness?" Nightfire asked tentatively, addressing me before casting his optics to Megatron. "And…" The Space Shuttle made an awkward expression, "your…Lordship…?" He added, frowning. "May I?"

"Of course you may," I snapped before Megatron could answer. "You are _my_ subordinate, Nightfire. No need to ask an uneducated dolt about anything."

The line Megatron's lips had pressed into tightened. "Blitzwing is a Decepticon, Starscream, as are you." A threatening tinge darkened his tone, but my sneer only grew larger.

"Blitzwing is the subject of study, and _I_ am the head scientist leading the experiment, so I naturally hold authority."

At my words, Megatron narrowed his optics further. However, I only glared back, and stood my ground. The air between us grew heated with tension. Neither of us was willing to give. Backing down was not an option, not when it would infringe my rights to my research. I thought we were going to stand there for joors until Soundwave stepped forward, and dipped his helm.

"Suggestion: Allow Vosian Scientific Advisor Nightfire access to assessment of Triple Changer Blitzwing." His boring, droning voice dulled the simmering animosity like a bucket of coolant. "Logic: Beneficial for current main objective."

With a look that articulated better than words what he thought of my behaviour, Megatron nodded, and angled his helm to the side. "Proceed, Blitzwing." He said, and the purple and beige ground pounder shuffled forward, looking a little nervous as he glanced between Megatron, Nightfire, and I.

"Please remain still, and stand with your arms lifted, joints locked, extending straight." Nightfire instructed with a kind smile. He approached the triple changer, and took out a data pad equipped with necessary applications from subspace. The grounder complied, and my Science Advisor started to scan his frame, making several readings.

"I was under the impression you already have all the information you need," Megatron said as he watched, optics a dim glow while Nightfire poked at Blitzwing with other equipment he'd brought from Vos.

"We do," I answered, noting with great mirth how uncomfortable Blitzwing was despite Nightfire's attempts at easing the procedure. "Nightfire is only rechecking the results." I decided to not elaborate, since Megatron obviously would not understand.

A few breems later, Nightfire tapped at his data pad, and turned to me with a bright grin on his faceplate. "Everything looks good, Sire. Shall we proceed?" His optics shimmered, and I was compelled to return his excitement as my spark skipped in giddiness. If all went well, Blitzwing would become the first ground-bound Cybertronian to attain an aerial alt-mode. By the pits, I felt like Primus.

"Affirmative," I nodded, and couldn't stop a big smile from tilting the corners of my lips in time. Nightfire nodded back before turning to the rest of our group.

"Please take several steps back to give Blitzwing an amble amount of room."

All of us aside from Nightfire and Blitzwing backed away to the sidelines. I stood with my trine mates, while Megatron and his subordinates retreated to the opposite side of the arena.

"Blitzwing, you may stand or you may sit, whichever is most comfortable for you," My science advisor touched the triple changer's shoulders, and gave him an apologetic smile, "I'm afraid, however, that we don't have a berth for you to recline on if you wish to lie down."

I sent out an irritated huff through my vents, and crossed my arms over my chassis. That was all Megatron's fault. If he did not pull his rank on me, we would be in the comfort and hospitality of my large, well-ventilated science lab instead of some dark, dank hole of an arena. I thought having Blitzwing try out his new alt-mode would be most appropriate in my city, since he was going to acquire his wings. However, Megatron had been insistent that his Decepticon remain in Kaon, some slag about the importance of the creation of a new line of soldiers being at his base of operations.

Blitzwing had decided to remain standing. For a ground pounder about to enter the realm of the air, he looked awfully distressed, and unwilling. His joints were pulled stiff, posture rigid, while his peds had parted to standard combat position. He visibly flinched when Nightfire manually opened the hatch to the medical port at the base of his helm, and his jaws tightened.

"Engaging hardware connection. Please relax, Blitzwing," Nightfire murmured, pulling out a cable from the data pad and gently plugging it into the medical port. Blitzwing winced. His fists clenched, though he did not make a sound. "Commencing data flow to central core processor starting in three…two…one," Nightfire dutifully explained each procedure so Blitzwing would not be surprised, but even still, the triple changer made a face when the data flow began, gritting his dentae.

Such direct hardware transfer of data, into the deepest processor unit no less, was hardly an enjoyable experience. Unfortunately for Blitzwing, there was no other way to ensure that he received every line of code needed to learn something completely unnatural to his ground pounder frame. Feeding the information and instructions to his transformation chip was the only option. Well, aside from long joors on a surgical berth of painful reconstruction and reformatting. The triple changer would simply have to bear the small price of gaining a pair of wings.

"Please wait for all data to transfer and fully integrate into your core processor," Nightfire instructed as he kept careful watch on the display on his data pad. "If, at any point, you feel the data flow is too much, please let me know, and I will slow it down."

Blitzwing only let out a soft grunt, and offlined his optics. For a long moment, only silence could be heard in the arena. Suddenly, the triple changer jolted. His faceplate scrunched into a grimace especially unpleasant, and he made a strangled, bitten back groan. Nightfire immediately steadied him with a hand on his shoulder, moving to stand behind our subject of study in case he falls. "Should I slow the transfer speed?" My science advisor asked, a frown knitting his brow-ridges when the grounder gritted out another small whine of discomfort.

"N-No…" Blitzwing's voice was barely a whisper. His frame began to tremble, and he looked almost ashamed.

"The overexertion of your core processor would be counterproductive to our objective." Nightfire explained in soothing tones. "Would you prefer a slower transfer speed, Blitzwing?"

"I—I'm not overexerting," Blitzwing squirmed on his peds, and hung his helm forward to hide his faceplate in shadow. "It's just…very strange…" He did not elaborate, keeping silent while his body periodically shivered.

"Are you encountering any resistance from your base programming?" Nightfire's optics met mine for a brief moment. I hadn't realized until that moment that I was frowning much like my science advisor.

A backlash from Blitzwing's basic coding was one of the major concerns. I was aware that conflict was inevitable, but we had all hoped that Blitzwing's unique acceptance to different alts would make the eventual adaptation of aerial schematics possible. The probability of full integration was relatively high, but failure was not uncommon for even the most well-researched experiments.

Blitzwing still had not answered. He remained suffering in silence, limbs sometimes making a minute jerk.

"…It's…not bad," He finally replied, after a long, tense moment of waiting from all onlookers. "I'm working around it."

"Good," Nightfire heaved a quiet sigh of relief. "Please refrain from fighting your base programming. Allow them to run their course. They must accept the data loading into your core processor, so help them along. Do not push them aside." To my surprise, Nightfire lowered his hand from Blitzwing's shoulder, and placed it on his back. The Space Shuttle rubbed circles right between the triple changer's upper plating, where fliers would have their wing joints. The effect was not immediate, but, after a few kliks, Blitzwing slowly relaxed. His ex-vent stuttered, but his shoulders sagged a little, joints easing from their rigidity.

I did not expect such a physical gesture from Nightfire, even less did I think the rubbing would help. But then again, Blitzwing was our subject, so it made sense for Nightfire to offer support to ensure the experiment's success.

"Better?" Nightfire asked, peering forward as though trying to catch Blitzwing's expression.

Blitzwing only nodded, as he ran even, slow cycles of air through his system.

Another moment passed, this time without interruption. A small ping sounded from the data pad, and Nightfire glanced down, rubbing paused. A pleased smile appeared on his faceplate, and his hand left the triple changer's back. The Space Shuttle tapped at the data pad, and made a small hum before reaching for the cable connected to Blitzwing's medical port.

"All data has been transferred and integrated. Disengaging hardware connection." Nightfire took a hold of the base of the cable, and made a tiny squeeze. With a click and a hiss, it was disconnected, and Blitzwing made another flinch, reaching back as if to rub.

"The soreness does not come from the port, Blitzwing." Nightfire nudged the hand aside, and closed the hatch. "It will elevate within the next few kliks."

Blitzwing nodded, and let out a mumble. He took his hand back, and stood stock still, staring at Nightfire as the Space Shuttle typed happily away. Nodding to himself, my science advisor deactivated the data pad, and returned it to subspace. His optics shimmered as he looked up, and he took a big step back, smile expectant and field swirling with tangible anticipation.

That could only mean one thing.

"You may begin the transformation, Blitzwing." Nightfire was obviously restraining himself from bouncing on his thrusters.

"What?" Blitzwing turned fully around and gaped. "That was it?"

"Of course," Nightfire laughed a little, breaking his professional demeanor. "Do you not feel ready?"

"Well…I…I don't know…" Blitzwing fidgeted, and I felt a scowl begin to taint the grin on my faceplate.

What was the stupid grounder waiting for? He was about to gain a pair of wings, for Primus's sakes!

"The change is not supposed to be glaringly obvious, Blitzwing. That was part of the point." Nightfire encouraged the triple changer with patience I did not possess. "One of your previous alt-modes _has_ been removed, though, has it not?"

"Yeah…" Blitzwing still hesitated. "I still have my tank alt, but in the other slot there's just…something else."

A blast of hot air left my vents. Of course there was something else! That was the whole purpose of the experiment!

"Hurry _up_, ground pounder!" I blurted out, and everyone in the arena glanced at me before turning their attention back to Blitzwing. The triple changer pursed his lips, and finally, if not slightly reluctantly, he began his transformation sequence.

In a flurry of shifting parts, he lost his bipedal form. Soft noises of panels and joints snapping into place accompanied the universal sound of a Cybertronian transformation. Blitzwing's arms and legs disappeared into the mass of moving components. His new alt was emerging. He began to resemble a modified Striker Jet, and my optics widened, intakes spluttering to a stop. From deep within the triple changer, I could see them – brief glimpses of a pair of wings.

_Clunk._

I jumped, as did Nightfire.

The shifting abruptly stopped, followed by a forced, painful whirr. Arms unraveling around my chassis, I took a step forward, and felt my spark lurch. I pinned the still unfinished transformation with round optics, lips parted and breath held.

"Blitzwing?" Nightfire asked, leaning forward as well with a worried frown on his faceplate.

Blitzwing did not reply. More whirring came from the mass as parts jammed against each other, but they stopped after a while.

"Uhh…I'm stuck…" Blitzwing said, voice muffled and embarrassed.

"We can see that!" I snapped before I could stop myself, fists clenching by my sides. "The design is perfect. You obviously did something wrong!"

"But I—"

"I have no desire to listen to your excuses of incompetence! For Primus's sakes, you can't even transform right. What kind of a Cybertronian are you?!" I sneered in disgust, and glared at the triple changer who failed what he was sparked to do.

Blitzwing remained in his sad, humiliated half-transformed mess, and visibly sagged under my words.

"…I'll try again…" He mumbled, sounding like a scolded sparkling. I crossed my arms over my canopy once again, and let out a hiss of annoyance. The triple changer shifted back to his bipedal mode, helm lowered and not meeting anyone's optics. However, just the sight of his base mode alone left many in the arena gaping in awe.

His frame was different. A significant amount of alterations could already be seen. Where before straight, angular lines were has now smoothed out, and a new distribution of weight has left him with a more streamlined form. He still carried much bulk, at least for a flier. However, he no longer held the usual heaviness in ground pounders, much lighter on his peds than before.

A stray thought floated over my processors, wondering if Blitzwing could still be a tank. Not that such mattered. Why would anyone want to be a tank when he could be a jet?

"Interesting…" A quiet musing from Shockwave summed up the sentiment shared by every mech in the arena. As much as the mono-optic irritated my flight sensors, I could not bring my spark to care, not now. Blitzwing looked around. It was apparent that he did not like being gawked at, but he said nothing. If it weren't for Nightfire, the triple changer was probably going to endure a whole joor more of staring before allowed to attempt transforming again.

"Please try one more time, Blitzwing," Nightfire gave him an encouraging nod, and prompted the subject of our study with a smile. "This time, however, refrain from haste. Give the sequence some time. It's expected to take longer than your usual transformation."

Blitzwing nodded, and stood up straighter. With a deep cycle of air, he activated the sequence once more, though this time, he was much more thorough and slow. His peds folded and lowered him to the floor. His arms rotated and bent at the joints before disappearing into other moving components. His helm disappeared. He lost all resemblance to base mode. A breem later, he reached the same step where he had previously gotten stuck. My intakes hitched, and I watched, jaws tight and wings stiff.

Blitzwing slowed further, almost reaching a complete stop. Pieces were still shifting, but they came from inside him, soft murmurs of rotating parts. Quiet, skidding clicks, then his armor slid apart. Suddenly, there they were: two wide expanses of purple plating swinging up out of his frame before folding and snapping into place.

My optics grew round. My lips parted in wonder and astonishment. My arms loosened, and fell to the sides. They dangled, limp, as my spark held completely still inside my spark chamber.

They were _wings_.

Not large ones, but they were wings nonetheless. They had the right shape. They had the right thickness. They were firm, smooth, and they displayed proudly in a manner any flier would.

The transformation was complete. A modified, fully formed Striker Jet sat in the middle of the arena platform, showcased to all spectators.

A large grin overtook my expression, and I let out a bright bark of laughter, wings flicking high on my back.

I have just given justification to Blitzwing's designation.

"…_Primus_…!" Skywarp whispered from my left, and I felt sheer bliss sweep my swelling spark with a wave of pride and triumph.

Primus indeed. I offlined my optics, and soaked in the feeling of creation.

This must have been what our Holy Creator had felt when he'd sparked the first flier into existence.

Blitzwing did not wait for orders this time before transforming back into base mode. As he once again stood on his peds, a pair of wings flanked his sides from his back. He looked so stunned as he stared behind his shoulders that, for a moment, I almost worried that his optical glass were going to splinter. With a hand, he tentatively reached back, and gave his own wing a squeeze. The wing jerked under his fingers, and he startled, but I could not determine whether he was surprised by the sudden influx of new sensations or the abrupt reaction from his wing. He hastily retracted his hand, as though sheepish. However, he continued to stare, wide-opticked and slack-jawed, at the wing.

Slowly, the wing made another flick, tilting slightly upward and dipping down before returning to its standard position. Blitzwing continued to watch, fascinated as the wing began to wave back and forth, a gesture eventually joined by his other wing. They started to move in unison, in little twitches and flutters. It was very distracting, to say the least, watching a novice send out a myriad of mixed signals he had not the faintest clue of making.

"I'm, uhh, getting a bunch of readings I can't understand." Blitzwing frowned a little. "My sensors feel different too…They're picking up more information than before, I think." He reached behind him again, and his digits brushed against of his wing tips. The touch instantly wrung out a whole string of curses from the triple changer, followed by hissing intakes as his entire frame jolted and tensed. "Slag, these things are sensitive." He muttered, and sent his wings wary glances.

"Yours are not half as sensitive as an actual flier's," I shook my helm clear of the euphoric haze at success, and approached the triple changer, "but they will do." I stopped beside him, and gave his wings an appraising once-over. "Your sensor range has been recalibrated to maximum capacity so you can keep track of conditions in the air. You won't be able to match a real flier in the sky, but there is much you can learn." I smiled, and patted him lightly on a wing. "With some upgrades, you will be able to take flight for the first time. You have remember something very important now, Blitzwing," I tossed a deliberate glance at Megatron and his entourage, "You are not a ground pounder anymore."

Blitzwing looked every bit as overwhelmed as he must have felt, optics turning dazed as he undoubtedly tried to process what I had said. Just to make thinking harder for him, I kept my light stroking on his wing, taking great care to trace the sensors lacing the edges. For unfathomable reasons, I felt more kindred toward the triple changer. He no longer looked repulsive. His expression was no longer stupid. His curiosity toward his wings reminded me of flier sparklings before they had their first flight, experimenting with the wide range of sensations they could receive through tactile input.

"He might not be a ground pounder," Megatron's voice and arrival instantly yanked Blitzwing out of his stupor, "but he is and will always be a Decepticon, despite any newfound penchant for the sky." The ex-gladiator gave me a pointed stare, and I scowled, jerking my hand from Blitzwing's wing despite his small noise of protest. The underlining message was clear: just because Blitzwing grew a pair of wings did not mean he was under my rule. I huffed, and crossed my arms. I did not need a _ground pounder_ to tell me that the triple changer's new alt-mode did not make him a citizen of mine.

"Is he able to fly?" Megatron asked, giving Blitzwing a once-over.

"Have your audials been glitching this whole time?" I scrunched my nose bridge in disdain. "I clearly stated that he still requires upgrades before he can take off for the first time."

Megatron clearly did not appreciate my pointing out of his obvious faults, but he did not interrupt when I continued to explain, "He might _look_ like he has all the parts, but he doesn't. Besides, there is much more to flight than just physical modifications. Blitzwing still needs new programs installed to his central processors. He will also need to undergo proper flight training like a flier sparkling does. Codes settle better when they're learned."

"If all fliers are able to receive upgrades, what makes one better than the other?" Megatron looked at Blitzwing and Nightfire before turning back to me, an honest curiosity in his optics.

"Well, if you were listening like you should, Megatron, you would know the answer," I bit at him, but decided to humour his interest since I was in a good mood:

"Flying goes much beyond what your parts can do. Beside obvious differing physical conditions, even within the same sub-frame type, every flier's processing power and sensory relay speed is different as well, amongst other things. Certain skills can be trained and honed, but there are limits to how far a flier can push his system. I'd wager a guess that ground pounders work in similar ways? You were a gladiator once. You must have fought countless opponents who were the same size, if not bigger than you, yet you triumphed, so there is obviously more to superiority in strength than just bulk."

Megatron listened, optics a bright glow in our dim surroundings. He hummed thoughtfully, and nodded as I finished. Suddenly finding myself at the center of his avid attention, I decided to flaunt a little. "Though of course," I placed my hands on my hips, chassis jutting forward and wings perking high, "Physicality also has much to do with a flier's superiority over another.

"Take _me_, for example," I smirked, tilting my chin upward, "_I_ am utmost _perfection_ of the flight-capable Cybertronian frame-type, resulting from generation after generation of careful breeding to ensure topmost, flawless excellence of my frame." Megatron's optics flashed as they zoomed in on mine, and my smirk grew wider and bolder. "Not a single flier in existence is able to catch up with me, as my coding does not contain any sequence from another sub-frame type of Vos aside from my own." I swayed my hips, the slight sweep of a ped accentuating every sleek line of my body.

"_I_ am the perfect Seeker," I stated proudly, daring anyone in the arena to say otherwise. "I am as pure to Primus's design as the Firsts he had sparked at the Beginning of the World." That had been my favourite berth-time story as a sparkling. "Only the fastest and the most beautiful has ever had the honour and luxury of becoming Royal Consort."

Megatron's optics flickered. He studied my frame, phantom touches over my heating plating.

"I am the epitome." Whom he desired. "I am what every flier strives to become." My spark swelled. "I am the unachievable." I waited until his optics once again rose to catch mine. "I am the ideal which every pair of wings in the universe is based upon."

His gaze scorched.

"I am the single most dangerous creature you will ever see pierce the sky." I looked back in equal fervor, voice a purring whisper that stirred the flaring of his energy field. "I am ruler of the wind, the spear of your war." I paused, and the smirk on my faceplate stretched, its tilt most vicious and arrogant.

"…And I, am—"

"-_Mine_…" He finished with a low growl, and, in that instance, all words dissipated from my processors, like smoke without ember. My train of thought had gone, trailing to nothing before I could even remember to snatch it back, but that did not matter.

He was watching me, completely, utterly _captivated_ by the essence of my being.

All that mattered was that his optics once again held that unreadable emotion, one that outshone even lust and the desire to conquer.

I could not breathe.

My intakes had frozen.

With a forced splutter, I shuffled back a tiny step.

"…Don't be ridiculous." I hissed, optics darting as my hands tightened around their perch on my hips. "I am not yours."

"_Yes_." A single syllable, one that ignited the blazing intensity unique to only my Lord. "You," His lips slowly lifted, the smile of a tyrant, "already are, Starscream."

…My wings shivered, their painted sigils prickling my flight sensors. I pressed my lips together, and fought to stay silent, to stay still, in case the impulse to reciprocate his claim became too much to bear. I took several cycles of air into my system, counting each one religiously. A long moment trickled past before I finally regained my voice, one that did not quiver or rasp with desire.

"Temporarily, perhaps," I said, quiet but certain, "Permanently, no."

His energy field flared in response. It throbbed with heat, and the need to possess.

"I do not like the implications of your words, my Second." His optics pressed me down as he stressed my rank. "Your assumptions are more ambitious than you can afford."

"Assumptions?" My optics narrowed, and my gaze steeled. "Only time can tell, _mighty leader_."

His title hung in the air, which had begun to heat between us. We seemed to have reached a stalemate, unwavering in our stance as we dared the other to make the next move. Neither of us was willing to look away, hence admitting defeat, so it was no surprise when the silence grew tight and heavy. The onlookers around us started to get restless. I could hear them shuffling on their peds, until a breem later, Skywarp finally got tired of waiting and spoke up:

"So, what happens now?"

His voice tore the mounting tension. It left an almost audible rip.

"Now," I answered my trine mate, lips spreading into a pleased, expectant smile, "Our most generous Lord Megatron will give me my well-deserved reward for accomplishing my task. After all, a good leader should always know when to extend proper praise to his loyal and humble subordinates for their hard work done well."

"Do you need my praise so desperately, Starscream?" Megatron asked, voice smooth with amusement. Whatever miniscule sliver of appreciation I had toward him evaporated in an instance. Annoyance surged like a fountain from my spark, and my hands left my hips, curling into fists by my sides.

"_Why_ is it so difficult for you to give me the recognition I deserve, Megatron, when you give it so freely to the more inept of your followers?!" I spat out, and took an offensive step forward, smile morphing into a pronounced sneer. "You cannot _possibly_ be so _stupid_ as to think my accomplishments unimpressive!"

"Don't discredit another's work to boost the value of your own." Lord Slagger replied airily, and had the nerve circuits to smile as though my reaction humoured him.

My fists tightened. "I call it as I see it." I hissed, and glared hotly up at the ex-gladiator. "I have done so much for you, yet you continue to brush aside my work as worthless. For Primus's sakes, that very cannon on your arm was of _my_ making!" I pointed at the fusion cannon, "I have yet expressed consent to giving it to you, Megatron, so I am entitled to take it back anytime I like!"

"Bringing up irrelevant matters is not going to help your case, Seeker." The damned ground pounder was still amused, smile growing even bigger as his optics began to—to—

-twinkle.

_Twinkle_!

It was _infuriating_!

A tremour shook through my wings, and I shouted:

"Stop _smiling_, you scrapheap, and give me what I deserve!"

I should have suspected that whatever slag he came up with could not possibly reflect the magnitude of my ingenuity, especially when his smile never dwindled in the slightest despite the unflattering names I kept calling him. However, at that moment, all I was concerned with was getting _any_ acknowledgement from him at all.

"I do have something I believe you will enjoy," Megatron squared his shoulders, and strode toward me, optics shinning like twin suns. I was half a processor away from skidding back like a startled sparkling when he suddenly came so close that his energy field brushed against mine, but I caught myself, plating my thrusters firm to my spot.

"Yes?" I snapped, stilling and freezing rigid. He slowly leaned forward, until the tips of our nose bridges almost touched, and, with great alarm, I spluttered, cheek plates flushing with heat. I had to physically restrain myself from squeaking and backtracking away like an undignified, twitchy young spark. A predatory edge sharpened his gaze, though the Primus-damned amusement remained, stubborn and prominent in his expression.

"It is something, I think, only a Seeker of your caliber can do." His voice was quiet, but its deep, rumbling quality carried just enough delightful malice to excite my spark with a quiver. However, I gave no outward indication of my inner turmoil, even as he began to languidly trace the Decepticon symbol on my right wing.

Argh—slag him to the pits, it was hard to think!

My brow-ridges furrowed in a deep frown, and I held my intakes, trying my best to ignore the tickling sensation.

This did not sound like a reward…

And it was not.

This mysterious "something" Megatron molested my wing over turned out to be a scouting mission to the outskirts of Tarn, where the largest storage and shipment facilities were. As I shot across the sky with my trine mates in tow, all I could do was screech my vocalizer off, cursing Lord Slagger the Rust Bucket to the next pit and back.

"How could he. _How could he?_" I shouted indignantly as we pierced through the air in standard position. "How could he send _me_, his Primus-damned _second-in-command_, on a _scouting mission_?!"

"'Caaaaause he wanted to give you lots of flight time?" Skywarp answered, unhelpful as always, and I felt my left wing twitch.

"I can fly in my own Primus-damned city, Primus-damn-it!" I would have made an exceptionally disfiguring sneer had I been in base mode.

"Then why didn't you say so?" Thundercracker sounded genuinely confused. "You just stood there, staring at him, muttered something unintelligible, and walked away. That was very unlike you, Star."

I did not want to explain, so I remained silent.

"C'mon, TC, you saw the way ol' Megs looked at Screamer and touched his wing." Skywarp snickered, and I felt the onset of bubbling anger. "I was surprised Screamer could still walk straight with his interface equipment running so hot."

"They were _not_ running hot!" I shot back immediately, wings making an agitated jerk.

"Oh yeah? Then why was your energy field all over the place?" I knew Skywarp would be grinning audial to audial by now if he were in bipedal mode. I just _knew_. "Now what I wouldn't give to find out exactly what Megatron did to lubricate your port so fast…"

"_Skywarp_!" I shrieked, half horrified and half disgusted by his crass comment. I was not alone. Thundercracker almost fell out of the sky, stumbling and breaking formation with a violent startle. He hastily gave his thrusters a boost, rising in altitude, and caught up while a certain purple idiot cackled.

"Skywarp, that was highly inappropriate and distracting…" My blue trine mate said, tone quiet and dry.

"Distracting?" Skywarp was not deterred in the slightest. "Do tell exactly what was distracting you, TC. I'd _love_ to know." The mischievous and mirthful lilt in his voice, joined by a low purr from his engine, instantly put me on guard. Whatever he had brewing in his processors, I did not want to hear it, or acknowledge it, or have anything to do with it at all.

"Shut up! You're not here to make me the subject of your crude jokes, Skywarp!" I wanted to toss him a glare, but in jet mode, it was not possible, so I settled for a snarl instead. "We're almost on location, so be quiet and prepare for descent."

"Affirmative, Star." Thundercracker replied like the good, responsible trine mate that he was. Skywarp only snickered some more, but, thankfully, he shut his vocalizer as we started dropping in altitude.

Tarn was the biggest and one of the wealthiest Autobot cities on Cybertron. It held the largest commercial center on the planet, and business flourished here, giving the city a strumming metropolis that bustled with traffic even during late joors of the night. The same could not be said about the surrounding outskirts, however, which stretched to the horizon and remained mostly lifeless. Only warehouses were situated here, rows after rows of massive storage facilities laid out in a neat and orderly fashion. Drones did most of the work, keeping track of inventory, stacking up newly received goods, and preparing large crates for shipment, which happened three times per cycle. The only job the dock workers really had here was to watch the drones while they loaded commercial hovercrafts and put the cargo into storage.

However, the little number of workers did not equate a lack of security. Surveillance here was keen and precise, since much of the raw crystals mined from deep within Cybertron was kept here before they were shipped to factories to be processed. Even before the war, this place was heavily guarded, with enforcers constantly stationed around the perimeter. Now, there were even more. Luckily for me and mine, life was so boring here that those stationed were prone to slacking off. These mechs often got sidetracked into doing other things while they patrolled, fooling around for entertainment and sneaking off on extended energon breaks, which consequentially gave my trine just enough blind spots to slip through.

As we got closer, we disengaged our thrusters, and glided overtop. What little noise we made floating over the wind went completely undetected by the grounders, who were busy sharing jokes and guffawing with their blasters deactivated. Prior to our leave, Soundwave had given us scramblers to attach onto ourselves to hide our energy signatures. The cameras took longer to disable, but the Decepticon Communications Officer had little trouble hacking into the main surveillance system to loop the video feed. As long as my trine was careful, we were practically invisible to the Autobots.

Spotting an appropriate landing location, I sent my trine mates the coordinates and slowly swerved in the air. Swooping down without much noise, I aligned my nosecone to the warehouse, and waited until I was right on top of the building before transforming. Dropping down onto my peds, I cushioned my landing with a careful crouch, lightening the impact of my thrusters. There were still audible thuds as my trine mates and I landed, so we kept ourselves low, and waited for several kliks before straightening up.

:_This would've been so much easier if I were to simply dispatch some Stealth Jets,_: I grumbled over our trine link, surveying the area to pinpoint the Autobots stationed around us. :_Missions like this are what they're sparked for._:

:_Awww, but Screamer,_: Skywarp grinned when I sent him a brief glare, :_If Megatron didn't send us here, we wouldn't have the chance to see Tarn before we attack it._:

:_What's there to see? All grounder cities are the same. Besides, we aren't even actually _in_ Tarn._: Heaving a frustrated but quiet sigh through my vents, I completed my scan of the area, and turned to my trine mates. :_What information are we scouting exactly?_:

:_Let me check…_: Thundercracker took out a data pad from subspace, and activated it to holo-read. Our mission objectives appeared, and I walked closer, peering around my blue trine mate's shoulder for a look.

:_All Megatron wants is a _map_?_: I sneered. :_Soundwave can easily hack into the Autobot Archive mainframe and download one!_:

:_But if he asked Soundwave, this wouldn't be _our_ mission anymore!_: Skywarp exclaimed, optics widened as though the notion dismayed him. :_And we wouldn't be able to see Tarn!_:

I just stared at the idiot I had for a trine mate, sneer growing bigger. His stupidity had expanded to such degree that I did not even know what to say.

:_Aside from a map, we're supposed to find out which warehouses stored energon crystals._: Thundercracker scrolled down and summarized, :_After we find out which warehouses those are, we have to locate all surrounding guard posts and count the number of Autobots stationed there._:

:_Oh, _joy_._: I could not help but let out a sarcastic drawl. I could think of at least a dozen more stimulating activities to do during the time I was going to spend playing "spot the Autobot".

:_Why do we need to know how many Autobots there are when we're just gonna slag 'em?_: Skywarp frowned, turning away from his curious staring at the warehouses to give Thundercracker and I a look of confusion.

:_Because, _genius_, we can't just bomb the place to the smelting pits like we did the prisons._: I sent out a curt blast of air through my vents. :_We need the energon crystals in tact, not exploded._:

:_Awww, that sucks._: Skywarp whined, sticking out his downer lip component in a pout. For once, I actually agreed with his sentiment, though toward different subjects. This really did suck. Stupid reconnaissance mission…

:_Is that all we need to do?_: I glanced at the holo-read, and asked.

:_Well,_: Thundercracker scrolled down further,:_we also need to do a total count of all Autobots stationed here in the outskirts, plant a hacking device for Soundwave into the security mainframe for the upcoming attack, and approximate the amount of energon crystals that's stored here after locating the appropriate warehouses._: He answered dutifully before putting the data pad back into subspace. :_That's a lot of work waiting to be done. I suggest we start soon._:

Skywarp groaned, and his wings sagged a little. I sighed one more time, and grimaced.

No wonder the Autobots were so slack around here. This place _reeked_ of boringness.

:_I think we should split up to hurry things along._: I comm.-ed, dividing the tasks in my processors. :_I will do the overall Autobot count and write the map while you two locate which warehouses store the energon crystals. After they are found, Thundercracker and I will do the guard posts, and Skywarp will count the crystals. As for Soundwave's hacking device, we'll deal with that when everything else is done._:

:_Ugh, so many warehouses to scan…_: Skywarp's wings sagged even further, helm hanging forward as he started making his way to the edge of the building. :_I'll take this side. TC can take the other._: He waved with a flick of his wrist, and promptly leapt off the warehouse we were standing on. Due to the need for quiet, we could only fly with minimum thruster power, which was why finding a high landing spot was important.

:_Do you want to be higher for your part of the mission?_: Thundercracker asked, lingering by my side. :_I can give you a boost._:

:_Affirmative, a boost would be most helpful._: I nodded, and waited as he got into position.

Thundercracker knelt down, and laced his fingers together before placing them over the upright knee. The boost was simple. I would step onto Thundercracker's hands, and he would give me a push as he activates his thrusters, thus giving me momentum to reach higher altitudes even without applying much force. When he got ready, he looked up, and gave me a nod, a small smile on his faceplate. I walked toward him, and steadied myself with his shoulder vents before lifting my right ped, and placing it into his palm.

"…Wow…"

A soft, hushed exclamation of amazement startled me so much that my null rays activated before I could even hop back from Thundercracker. Swirling around on my thrusters, I swung up my arms, and pointed my charging compact cannons right in the direction the voice had come from. A mostly red and blue ground pounder was watching us, paused in mid climb up the side of the warehouse. Wasting no time, I aimed straight at his helm, but before I could shoot, the mech spluttered, and held up his arms in surrender.

"W-Wait! Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" He waved his hands, "If you shoot the Autobots will hear you!" He whispered, optics wide as he looked around. "I won't tell them you're here. I just—…I just wanted to come see you. That's all!"

Though I did not fire, my null rays remained charged. My optics narrowed, and I sent him a small jerk of my chin.

"Get up here where I can see you, ground pounder." I hissed, optics following his every move as he slowly finished his climb. The mech stayed low, frame hunched over as he held out his hands in front of him, in plain view. His obvious lack of weapons or Autobot badge indicated that he was a dock worker. How did a slagging _dock worker_ spot us when none of the Autobots did?

He was slimmer than most ground pounders I have had contact with, faceplate sporting an innocent, open gape. He was clean, plating polished to a nice sheen, and his optics were bright blue, round and full of wonder as he looked back at me with unmasked interest. He had a very boxy chassis, with only a large pane of glass shielding his spark chamber. He was very bland as far as looks went, but he had a certain sense of unabashed naivety that was…curious, that reminded me of—

"What are you doing here?" I blurted out before I could stop myself. Thundercracker stood up as I asked. I could not see what he was doing, but he did not activate his null rays, probably because our intruder was a civilian.

"I—…well, I was on my break, so I was at my usual spot, doing some reading when I saw you, the three of you, _flying_!" A broad smile appeared on his faceplate, and his optics sparkled. "You were so _incredible_. I _had_ to come see you up close!"

For a long moment, I could not decide what to do with this grounder. All of my intention of killing him vanished as soon as he started beaming at me, and, somewhat awkwardly, I lowered my arms.

"Um…Yes. We were…flying." I replied.

"I assumed you're here in secret, so I didn't say anything to anyone, and I won't tell any of the Autobots either. I promise." Seeing me lower my weapons, the mech stood up, and slowly made his way toward us, smile growing into a grin. "_Wow_…" His optics glided over my frame in appreciation, but they did not hold any lewd intention at all, only that of utter worship. "I honestly—" He clasped his hands in front of his chassis, "-would've never thought that _I_ of all mechs would have the chance to see Seekers, _real Seekers_, up close like this!"

"You…know we're Seekers?" I was surprised. I glanced back at Thundercracker, and saw that he was just as surprised as I was. After all, it was not often a ground pounder distinguished fliers so quickly.

"Yeah!" The dock worker nodded eagerly, giddy on his peds as he practically bounced on them, "I-I read all about you! Fliers are all so mesmerizing, but Seekers have always been my favourite!" He suddenly paused, cheek plates darkening in a blush. "I—I'm not trying to—to suck up on you or anything." His optics grew round as he waved his hands in front of his chassis as though afraid he had offended us. "I honestly find Seekers to be the most intriguing, not to mention the most impressive, being the fastest flight-capable frame type." He continued, voice soft but excited, "There's not much a mech can read on Vos, but I've read _all_ of Skyfire's essays at least ten times now, and the one on Seekers? I've read at least _fifteen_!"

Skyfire.

My spark gave a shuddering squeeze.

My fuel tank churned, and a small, bitter smile appeared on my faceplate as I looked away to the side.

"Ahh, yes…" I murmured, wings losing their perk, "Skyfire's essays…"

"Did I…say something wrong?" The ground pounder asked, fingers fidgeting as he frowned, tone unsure and apologetic. I shook my helm to dispel my uncharacteristic lapse. I did not know what was wrong with me. It usually took much more than a mention of that designation to dampen my mood.

"Why are you helping us?" I chose to ask instead, stare pointed and suspicious. "If you hadn't seen the Decepticon sigils on our wings from afar, you must have noticed them by now, so why are you not alerting the Autobots?"

The dock worker gave my trine mate and I each a long, wide-opticked look, lips slightly parted. When he still has not answer after several kliks, I frowned, and gave my wings a large jerk that instantly snapped him out of his stupor.

Was this mech damaged in the processors?

My thought must have reflected on my faceplate. The ground pounder rebooted his optics, and, sheepish, laughed a little, rubbing the back of his helm with a hand.

"Sorry, I'm just…a little overwhelmed right now. I mean…wow!" He bit his lips, and gave my frame another praiseful look. "…_Beautiful_…" His optics dimmed a little, and a shy, admiring smile tilted up his lips. He wore such an enthralled expression of adoration and rapture that I was left equally as speechless as he was.

I had never before met a ground pounder who had looked at me with such untainted worship.

"So…_why_ are you helping us?" Thundercracker, always the helpful one, repeated my question that had completely slipped my mind.

"Oh! Right!" Snapping out of a stupor for the second time, the mech shook his helm, and his cheek plates tinted. "I-I just…Well, I, uh, I mean…" He grew flustered as he stuttered, but he quickly composed himself, taking a deep vent. "I-I'm not saying this just because you are Decepticons, but I actually—…I really support what your Commander is trying to do!"

I shared a skeptical look with Thundercracker, and turned back to the dock worker.

"And what, pray tell, do you think Megatron is trying to do?" I lifted up a brow ridge, unconvinced that this civilian had any idea about what he was trying to say.

"Renew Cybertron, of course," He answered as though stating the obvious. "The Senate system is old, and it carries too much weight. I'm not as well-informed as some of my friends are, but I know a lot of mechs have it harder than I do, and I don't think that's right at all."

I was once again surprised by this mech's answer, momentarily rendered without words. I was very aware of the propaganda the Autobots were spewing about the Decepticons and Vos, and, as far as I knew, the Senate's efforts have been very successful in swaying the weak-sparked. I had assumed that all civilians were afraid of war and its consequences, which meant they would all unquestionably support the Autobots. Apparently, I thought wrong.

"So few have so much. So many have so little," The dock worker continued to say, brow ridges knitting in sadness and disappointment. "Freedom is every Cybertronian's right. As this planet's inhabitants, we should all enjoy what it has to offer."

Slowly, I shook my helm in disbelief. There was something about this grounder, something about him that reminded me of…of my sire creator. The thought was downright laughable, of course. My sire creator was King, much greater and wiser than this youthful, naive common laborer. However, this mech, who has been nothing but painfully genuine since the beginning, held a quiet, tranquil strength that struck me as being very remarkable.

"…Who _are_ you?" I asked.

"I am Orion Pax." He smiled, optics bright and glimmering. "But please, call me Orion."

"Orion," I repeated, a small smirk quirking up the corners of my lips. "Quite a designation for a dock worker."

He laughed, the sound soft but warm, as he dipped his helm in slight embarrassment.

I studied him for a moment longer before the urgency of the mission returned to top priority. "Well, talking to you has been fun," I spoke the truth, which was rare, "but I'm afraid my trine mate and I have much work to do ahead of us, so farewell." I acknowledged him with a nod, and turned away. "We'll probably never meet again." I gave Orion a small wave over the shoulder, and waited as Thundercracker once again knelt down on one knee in preparation to give me a boost.

"Wait!" A call from the dock worker stopped me in my track. Humouring him, I tilted my helm, and waited for him to speak.

Orion clutched his fingers together, and shuffled on his peds.

"Do—Do you think it's possible that—…p-perhaps we could—…" He nibbled on his lips. "…I just…" He took a deep intake. "I would love to see you again!" His voice was hopeful as he took a small step forward, optics sparkling like blue gemstones on his pale, ordinary faceplate.

I only stared, jaw slack and lips parted. This mech certainly had a knack for rendering me speechless.

"Orion…" Thundercracker sighed, "I'm sure my trine leader is very flattered, but…" His voice definitely held a disapproving frown, "…You undoubtedly have no idea who you are speaking to, so I am certain your boldness will be excused. However, I'm very sorry to say that there is absolutely no way that—"

"-Yes."

The word left my lips, and I was just as stunned as my trine mate when I realized what I had spoken.

Orion's optics grew so wide that I was worried he was going to short circuit them by stretching too far. "…R-Really?!" He asked in a hush, as though afraid that speaking loudly would change my decision.

Finding his reaction very gratifying and funny, I nodded, and smiled. Orion returned my smile with a large grin, optics glowing even brighter.

"I'll give you my comm. frequency!" A ping in my comm.-system alerted me of his invitation. I accepted, and watched his grin grow. Still amused, I turned my attention back to my trine mate, and placed my right ped into his hands.

"May I—…have your designation too, please?" Orion asked, tone hasty and expectant as I put my hands on top of Thundercracker's shoulder vents.

I turned to the dock worker one last time, and flashed him a delighted, but teasing look.

"You have to earn the privilege first, ground pounder."

Without another word, I tapped against Thundercracker's vents. My trine mate sprung up from the warehouse, thrusters activating in a burst and disturbing a film of dust. With a push, he threw me into the sky, and I transformed, easily catching a current that would allow me to glide. I flew away, keeping altitude with minimum thruster power, and wondered why I had answered this simple dock worker's request.

That was thought for another time. Now, there was a mission to do. Floating over the outskirts of Tarn, I started to code a map, all the while keeping count of the Autobots. Recent memory files pushed back, I focused on my objective, but my spark continued to swirl in amusement. Orion was one of the very few who was bold enough to actively request my company. The gesture was refreshing, and who knows? If he proved himself worthy of trust, maybe he could aid the Decepticons in securing possession of the energon crystals.

Who would have thought that Megatron's unappreciated joke of a reward could actually turn out to be rewarding?

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><p><strong>Notes: <strong>I'm so sorry for how late this is. Choir took a few of my weekends, so I didn't have much time to do edits until reading break this week. I'll try my best to keep the updates to at least once per month, but I can't promise anything, since there will be more weekend rehearsals during the rest of the semester.

Please be patient! I can only hope that the content of the chapters will make up for the long wait. XD

_Special thanks time_ to everyone who's reviewed! To _Suki-Angel91494_, _Pandablubb_, _Rozelith_, _HighxOnxCrack_, _Random523_, _Devlinn Reiko_, _Balrog Roike_, _VyxenSkye_, _Cjade_, _Koluno1986_, _ladyredvelvet_, _The-writing-Mew_, _Ashcola17_, _lildevchick_, _Skylark Starflower_, _tiedwithribbons_, _riah riddle_, _Kyrmana_, _PwnKage_, _Cloud Kitsune17_, _jessfoisy_, _Eiswolf-Zero_, _loverofmythology_, _JenksBoJangles_, _Guest_, _Rin_, and _A. Non_, hearing from you has really made my days that much brighter. Thank you for the anniversary congratulations as well! Really appreciate it. :/)

Hmm, now this chapter, I don't really have much to say about it, haha, other than…surprise with Orion Pax? I took the idea of him being a fan of Seekers from this fan-comic I once saw online. Unfortunately, I've lost the source, so if anyone knows what I'm talking about, please let me know!

This chapter is pretty much the beginning of another peak in the "rising conflict" stage, hence why nothing big happened. I guess one notable thing, aside from Pax, is that _of course_ hearing his own voice praise himself would rile Starscream up like nothing in the universe. XD

Oh, and also, to read Starscream's favourite berth-time story, please look for "Genesis" on my profile page.

Please review! As always, I look forward to hearing what you think. : )


	20. XX

Disclaimer: Still don't own.

*Special thanks to _Snee_ for nudging me along and motivating me to finish editing this chapter. Much love, my sweet! Really appreciate it. -heart-*

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><p>XX<p>

Watching Blitzwing learn how to fly was surely as bad as Shockwave trying to tell a joke. While I had never personally witnessed the mono-optic's attempt at humour, Skywarp had been more than eager to share, recounting the event in vivid detail.

By Primus this was horrid. I was left speechless and dazed, staring at the spectacle in the sky before me from my flight deck. The triple changer's continuous failures at mimicking Nightfire's movements were downright _painful_ to look at. This was torture. Or perhaps mockery to flier-kind. I could not decide which.

"Blitzwing, you have to let go of me, or you will never learn to fly by yourself." Nightfire was the only mech in existence who could still be patient after an entire humiliating joor of lack of any accomplishment from his student.

Blitzwing did not even reply. He clutched onto Nightfire's arms, frame visibly shaking as he gaped down, optics wide with terror.

Voice soft and prompting, Nightfire tried once again to convince the triple changer to let go. He wrapped his hand around the fingers digging grooves into his plating, and picked at their edges in attempts to pry them off. However, the gesture only incited panic in the half-grounder. Blitzwing let out a gurgle, and grabbed harder at the Space Shuttle, vents audibly stuttering even from a distance.

"Will you look at _that_, mighty Megatron: a shining example of your fearless, vicious Decepticons," I drawled, and flicked a hand at the dramatics, "How _eagerly_ I anticipate our promising future together with such deadly soldiers at your disposal." I sent out a short, curt huff through my vents, lips curling. "The sheer magnitude of courage your treasured triple changer displays is absolutely _astounding_ to a small, humble Seeker such as myself."

Beside me, Megatron did not shutter an optic. "_You_ are a Decepticon too, Starscream." He replied, not even sparing me a glance, and my sneer grew.

"As enlightening as I can assure you this rare and valuable experience is," I hissed, not censuring my sarcasm in the slightest, "I _do_ have much more important matters to tend to than standing here like an idiot watching another idiot fail."

"If you believe yourself better at educating Blitzwing, why are you _here_?" Megatron tilted a brief look at me before turning back to his flailing subordinate. "I am certain Nightfire will appreciate any sagely advice you have to spare."

I did not know what to say to that. Grumbling and scrunching my nose bridge, I blasted out a sigh, and returned to my staring of Nightfire's efforts at dislodging a stubborn triple changer. My science advisor finally nudged Blitzwing's hands off, but his relief was short-lived. The Decepticon let out a high-pitched, undignified yelp, and threw his arms around the Space Shuttle's shoulders, ramming their frames chassis to cockpit.

Nightfire instantly became flustered, jolting and spluttering. A few fliers gliding by transformed out of their alt-modes just to stare, hovering as they gave me their bows. Some of them frowned, as though confused about what the floundering duo was trying to accomplish. Most of them simply covered their mouths and snickered, watching for a moment before flying away to their duties.

I heaved another ex-vent, and crossed my arms. This was getting downright ridiculous. I hadn't imagined _this_ as how I would spend my late mid-cycle at all.

Megatron had contacted me about Blitzwing's first flight lesson, and we'd settled on the time and place. I assumed that only the triple changer was coming. However, Megatron actually came himself, popping into existence with Skywarp and Blitzwing as though he was supposed to accompany them in the first place. Needless to say, I was surprised. He gave no indication during our conversation that he was planning on a visit, and his recent attitude had led me to believe that he wouldn't care enough to do so.

Several cycles have passed since the completion of Blitzwing's aerial alt-mode. I did not know why, but Megatron's changed, becoming rather distant, aloof. Not that we were ever particularly close, but this current behaviour was a far cry from his previous nosiness. He has stopped contacting me every cycle to check up on me, and the seldom times we'd talked, he sounded different. I could not pinpoint exactly what the difference was, but it was there, obvious but vague at the same time.

Was he starting to trust me as his second-in-command? Was that why he stopped comm.-ing every cycle? I turned my helm, and scrutinized him, trying to discern his thoughts. If he was, in fact, starting to trust me, then he was a fool. _I_ certainly did not trust _him_, and I was not above exploiting every advantage I had over him for my own personal benefits.

Did he somehow find out about my interactions with Orion? I frowned, sinking into my thoughts. That was not possible. Soundwave hadn't had any surveillance in Tarn until my trine mates and I planted his hacking device, so no one could have informed Megatron of my newfound friendship. Besides, why would it matter to him who I speak to? As far as he's concerned, my life was none of his business.

Skywarp had teleported away the klik he was dismissed, saying something about bothering Thundercracker. His departure left Megatron and I alone on the flight deck, and I had every belief that we would head inside after making sure Blitzwing was in no danger of perishing by fall in Nightfire's care. We would chat about war matters over vintage high-grade. There was much a commander and his second could talk about. I'd even comm.-ed the servicing staff to prepare a room, a privilege reserved for only the most esteemed of guests. However, a joor had already passed, and we were still standing here, on the exact same spots as when Nightfire had taken off with Blitzwing in tow. Megatron hasn't acknowledged any of my efforts at steering him to my tower. I was sure he understood my intentions, but he continued to feign obliviousness, the blank expression on his faceplate bordering on disinterest.

Now _that_ was just downright rude to a Seeker.

"What is it?" His voice jolted me out of my thoughts. My optics shuttered, and my wings perked a little, helm jerking upward to meet his gaze.

"Hmm?" I looked at him, confused.

"You've been staring at me for over a breem. Did you want something?" He replied, hands still clasped loosely around his back, faceplate inclined toward me.

Primus, have I really been staring at him all this time? I yanked my helm to the other direction, and shuffled away a few scoots.

"I-I wasn't—_staring_ at you…!" Frag, did I just stutter like a malfunctioning drone? I winced, and cursed in my processors.

Megatron made a low hum, but did not call my bluff.

"You don't have to stay, Starscream. I am more than capable of standing here by myself." He paused. "You are not required here."

My wing joints seized in tension. My fingers tightened around the side-plating of my arms, and they ached, throbbing points of pressure.

"There is no need for you to stay out of _politeness_," The word was ground out in distaste. "I would far rather you do your job than loiter here, idle, wasting your time."

I bit my lips, and stared at the air in front of my optics.

"Then why did you even _come_, Megatron?" I gritted through my sneer, faceplate still pointed away. "Why did you decide to visit my city if you don't, in fact, have a purpose with _me_?"

"I came here to oversee Blitzwing's progress," He answered, voice almost airy. "I did not command you to stay."

My digits clamped tighter around my arms. My wings trembled. My jaw joints clenched, and, without another word, I snapped around on my heels, hands curling into fists as my arms swung in a curt turn.

My right wing slammed against his arm. Pain surged like a burst of flames, shooting out in a web of icy burn.

My intakes hitched, and I almost stumbled, the contact equal parts shock and injury. I had underestimated the distance between us. My wing tip got the brunt end of impact. I had to force down a yelp, swallowing the gurgle and freezing into stillness while the sting radiated through my neural network. I gritted my dentae, and plastered on a scowl to mask my grimace of hurt. The burn stayed, waves of ache spreading outward while the sensory clusters stabbed.

Megatron turned, as though startled. I did not know what expression he wore, as I had lowered my helm and kept it out of his sight. I cursed him and his dense plating inside my processors, but my lips remained sealed. We stood, silent, for several long kliks. He did not inquire about my wing, and I did not apologize.

When the pain finally ebbed to a tolerable level, I jerked my wing out of his way, and strode off, thrusters brisk clicks against the smooth surface of the flight deck. I heard him shift on his peds, and my scowl almost fell, brow-ridges furrowing as I offlined my optics. There was a sharp squeeze inside my spark chamber. It hit hard. I shook my helm, and onlined my vision, walking faster for the entrance to my tower.

Megatron had stepped back to allow me passage. I could not afford to wonder whether he had or hadn't watched me leave.

I passed through the door, and made for the stairs. I descended, toward my recharge chamber, ignoring all who bowed as I neared them. The slagger…I cancelled all of my scheduled meetings for him! I took my precious time to offer him my company, and he thought he could just brush me off?!

The bitter part of my spark told me he just did. I huffed through my vents, and pressed my lips into a downward line. Why did I even bother showing him any hospitality in the first place?

I did not know what had caused his change in attitude toward me. As far as I was aware, I was still as important to him as several cycles ago. He was acting as usual when my trine mates and I returned from our scouting mission to Tarn. He'd even commended Skywarp for snatching an energon crystal from one of the warehouses he had teleported into.

Of course our generous, most gracious lord would commend _Skywarp_, but never me, never his capable, most deserving of praise second-in-command.

A snarl pulled at my lips. I stomped down the corridor, and the guards tensed in nervousness.

The morning after the Tarn mission, Megatron comm.-ed me, just as usual, and we actually had a decent conversation, where neither of us exploded into anger or tossed prickly insults. The topic itself was all business, having revolved around the war and weapon development. Everything was fine, but that only led to one conclusion, that whatever I did to cause him to act this way could not have come from anything I had said, so…what could it be?

The pits, why was I even _considering_ that his behaviour might've been because of anything _I_ did? How was it _my_ fault that his glitched processors were glitching even more? Our conversation was definitely not the cause. I was not rude or disagreeable. It was not as though I'd purposely brushed him off mid-sentence to watch Thundercracker dust his data pad shelf. Megatron was the one who had a matter come up in the first place, and we parted on good terms.

However, none of my musings or justifications could change the fact that the shift _did_ begin after that conversation.

I entered the pass-code to my berth chamber, and the door slid open after a small "beep". I threw myself onto my berth as soon as it was within reach, and heaved a deep sigh through my vents. Why was I bothered about Megatron anyways? He was just a ground pounder. Decepticon Lord or not, I was merely associating myself with him because his goal worked in Vos's favour. Our relation was not in any manner special. He clearly wanted to be intimate with me, and, just like Nightfire had suggested, this desire was a weakness, something that could be used against him, nothing more.

With another sigh, I offlined my optics. Since I was free for the rest of the cycle, I might as well make Pristinus a happy medic and catch up on well-needed recharge. Pinging the light system to dim, I squirmed on my berth, and settled into a comfortable position. The tension in my joints eased, and I sank into the soft padding, intakes and ex-vents slowing to an even rhythm.

A small smirk tilted my lips. Slag the infuriating idiot. He could stand on the flight deck until he rusted for all I cared. It was his loss, really, choosing to be by himself when he could be in my magnificent presence. I was going to forget all about him, and recharge away. I did not give a damned cog on why he was acting like this.

Kliks stretched into breems, and breems grew in number. Half a joor later, I was still awake, curled up and restless. My processors refused to settle. My spark would not calm. Thoughts continued to race, and my wing tip throbbed as though a reminder of the most recent hit my pride had taken.

…Why was Megatron treating me this way when nothing _happened_?!

With a frustrated growl, I flung myself from my berth, and hopped off before pattering toward my personal lab. I stopped in front of the data pad shelf, and lifted a hand to pull down the correct sequence. However, mid-reach, I lost the urge. Vents spluttering in a sigh, I turned away, and flopped back down onto my berth, faceplate first, arms spread and wings drooping.

If I could not even recharge, how could I focus on my experiments?

After much slow, lazy wiggling, I managed to flip over, and scooted up until my peds no longer dangled in the air. Though recharge escaped me, lying here in the silence was nice. Thoughts and questions still swam in my processors, but I paid them little mind. I offlined my vision, and ran cycles of air through my system, simply enjoying the moment. Such was rare for one as easily agitated as I was.

Without much consideration, I sent a ping to Orion, and waited for him to respond. He always did with haste, and he was always eager to hear from me, ready to listen.

In a few selected ways, he reminded me of Skyfire.

:_Hello?_: His voice, calm and soft with a touch of curiosity, answered.

:_Orion, it's me._: I greeted.

:_Hi!_: I could imagine him perking up upon hearing my voice, and smiled. :_What a pleasant surprise! How are you, Seeker?_:

We had come to the agreement that since he has yet gained the privilege of knowing my designation, for more reasons than Vosian customs alone, he would address me as "Seeker".

:_I'm…fine, I suppose._: I made a face.

Way to not avoid unwanted questions, Starscream. Maybe you should spill your spark out to your little dock worker friend too all the while sobbing about how much of an unfair slagger Megatron has been to you.

:_Is something bothering you?_: Orion was careful to not sound intrusive, which I appreciated, even though my reply was merely a noncommittal hum from my vocalizer.

:_What are you doing right now?_: I decided to change the topic. Orion was quick to pick up on such hints. He knew when to not persist, another trait I was glad for.

:_I'm on my break._: He said, and paused. :_…I guess I'm on my break most of the time._: He laughed. :_I mean, I only really have to work when the cargo crafts come._:

:_But they only come three times per cycle._: I frowned.

:_Yeah…_: Orion laughed again, though this time he sounded a little sheepish. :_My job isn't all that fulfilling or stimulating for the processors, I'm afraid._:

:_Why did you become a dock worker then?_: I asked.:_From my limited interactions with you, you don't seem to suffer any major malfunctions that would hinder you from obtaining other occupations._: Orion might be as ordinary as a ground pounder could be, but he was not stupid. Not that stupidity's ever stopped anyone from making a living. Just look at Skywarp.

:_My creators found this job for me actually, and I don't really mind it that much, to be honest._: Orion spoke on in a merry, chipper tone, :_I'm close to home. I make enough credits for nice things. _And_ I have plenty of time on my hands to read and stuff. Oh, by the way,_: His voice lilted, :_Have I told you that I'm thinking of buying a place for myself? I mean, I like my apartment now and all. It's close to the outskirts, not far from city center, but it really belongs to my creators, so I want to buy my own place. I didn't plan on doing it so soon though, but a friend of mine just got one, a new place I mean, and he said that housing is really cheap right now. I guess it's because of the war, but a good deal's a good deal. I went to check out some of the available apartments a few cycles ago, and I just found the perfect place! It's a little far from the docks, but it's within reasonable distance, so I thought—…I apologize. Am I talking too much?_:

:_No, go on._: I prompted, resting my arms over my abdominal plating. :_You know I don't mind._:

I rarely listened, to anyone. Most of the time, I didn't want to. However, in the seldom occasions when I did, for reason none other than to forget about my life for the moment, I found that I had no one who wanted to confide in me. I doubt I'd make a good listener, having very little experience in being one, but I knew it was really my rank that kept even my trine mates from seeking my advice. Social hierarchy should not be an issue within trines, but even though Thundercracker insisted that we were all equal, he, along with Skywarp, still exchanged concerns a lot more often than they did with me. They were always available when I needed audials to rant to, but the reverse almost never happened. This hardly bothered me, since I had much better things to do than listen to a trine mate's whining, but it could be nice sometimes.

Orion's chatter calmed me. Everything he spoke of was so different from what I knew. His life was interesting, refreshing. Ordinary. His ponderings contrasted so much from mine that they were often difficult to relate to, and his topics were so simple, so utterly _typical_ of an average citizen of Cybertron.

The complications he faced almost never went beyond his circle of friends. He wondered about where to take his potential bond mate on their next outing, or if an expensive frivolity he wanted was worth the credits or not. His worries revolved around _his_ life, not that of a city. That was something I could never have, as Vos was every bit mine as I was its Crown, its possession.

Orion was describing his little cube of an apartment to me, attaching image files when needed. He told me about the view, and how excited he was that it showed a sliver of the sky, not just taller buildings. To him, that small portion of space was the most amazing portion of space on Cybertron, because he was about to buy it with credits he had earned and saved himself after metas of dull work at the docks. I tried to imagine what that must've felt like, but it was impossible. I had no idea what earning credits meant.

:_I think I'm going to get the bigger berth instead of the one everyone else always gets._: He started to talk about furniture. Instead of having a professional design his interior, he wanted to do it himself, something about having his home reflect his personality. :_I think I'm going to put the bigger berth in my room, and buy another one, a regular sized one, for the side room. For the storage chamber, I'll make it my own library, and have it filled with shelves. Doesn't that sound great? A room just for data pads! That's what I've always wanted to do, you know, when I have my own place._:

:_That does sound neat._: I replied. His enthusiasm was infectious. It made my lips spread in a smile. I had the Central Archives of Vos as my library, so I really did not see what was so great about his room. That was not important, however. Orion did not need to know that.

:_Doesn't it?_: There was a grin in Orion's voice. :_I'm really looking forward to that, to finally having all my data pads properly stored, but my carrier always tells me that the room's just going to end up as messy as my other ones. He thinks everyone's rooms are messy. He even thinks Elita's is messy when he went there, and Elita cleans his place every deca!_:

Elita-One was Orion's potential bond mate. The two had first met when Orion got his job at the docks, and they quickly became friends. According to Orion, however, there has always been more. When Elita quit his job to start his education as a medic, Orion confessed his affections, which Elita eagerly reciprocated, and they had been going steady since, despite a few whiffs of turbulence.

"What about you, Seeker?" Orion had asked me once, after telling me about the grumpy medic Elita had to intern for, one who threw wrenches when he was angry. "What do _you_ do for a job?"

That question took me by surprise before I remembered that Orion had no idea who I was, unlike everyone else who's ever met me.

"Something that was passed down from my creators." I settled for a vague answer. At least it was not a lie.

"I thought so," Orion had replied. "You must be very important in Vos."

"Why do you say that?" I asked, suspicious.

"Well, you looked very important," He did not seem to notice the sharp tone I had spoken with. "Just from your appearance alone, I could tell you're at least very wealthy…and also from the way your trine mate glared. When we first met on top of the warehouse, he looked ready to deactivate me if I said one thing wrong." He had laughed, and I was taken by astonishment.

Thundercracker had _glared_? I did not know my blue trine mate was capable of such expression.

:_Maybe when the war is over, and you aren't busy,_: Orion's voice roused me from my thoughts, :_You can come visit me at my new place!_:

I did not know how to respond. No one has asked me to visit them like this before, no formal invite, no necessity due to rank, just…a mech wanting my company.

:_I hope you don't mind._: He talked on,:_Vos is probably much more beautiful than Tarn, but there are lots of things to do here to have fun too! I'll take the side room so you can have the bigger berth, for you wing span, I mean. I'm sure Elita will be happy to meet you as well. We can go for a cube of high-grade at that bar I told you about. It'll be great!_:

:_Orion,_: I interrupted his animated chatter, a furrow on my brow-ridges. My optics onlined, and the high ceiling of my berth chamber came into view, darkened from the low lighting and shrouded by shadow. :_You _do_ understand our planet is at war, don't you?_: I hated to dampen his spirit. Primus knew how rare that was during a time like this. But his naivety was starting to sting. :_War knows no distinction._: I paused. He did not reply. :_It's going to consume everything we know._: I added, and my fingers curled around my plating, pinching slightly.

The silence that followed hung over our line like tinted mist. I almost regretted saying what I did, but he answered then, and he did not sound angry that I had broken the last shred of normalcy he could cling helplessly onto.

:_I…am aware of that._: He said after the lengthy stall, during which I anxiously bit my lips and waited. :_I mean, the reason housing is so cheap right now is because of the war._: He laughed, but it lacked humour, devoid of its previous warmth. :_But what else can I do, Seeker? What do I have other than family and friends I can potentially lose and credits that might be rendered worthless the next cycle? _: There was a break in his words, and I was not sure if he wanted me to answer. Thankfully, he continued on. I was relieved, for I did not have an answer to give.

:_War is terrifying for bots like me._: He sighed.:_I can't fight, and I'm definitely not important enough to the Autobots to garner protection. I can only hope to survive, along with Elita, my creators, and my friends…which reminds me,_: His voice faltered a little, :_Please be careful, Seeker. I would hate it if something bad happened to you._:

I did not know how to respond, or even how I should react to his concern.

Hearing him express such sentiment was…strange.

I knew many worried about me. For Primus's sakes, my whole city worried about me. But hearing Orion, a ground pounder civilian who did not even know my designation, say this to me – it held significance I could not yet decipher. I felt as though something momentous had just happened, but I haven't understood enough to know what it entailed. There it was again, the quality that made Orion unique. I could almost call him ignorant, or perhaps cowardly, pretending everything was normal when it clearly wasn't. However, I did not feel that either was his intention.

:_I don't need _you_ telling me to be careful._: I ended up blurting out with a huff from my vents. :_I am superb in aerial combat. _That_ I can assure you is not an exaggeration in the slightest._:

Orion laughed. :_Of course, Seeker. I have no doubts about that at all._: His voice once again held a grin. :_I don't know much about flying, but even I could tell you are exceptional from when I saw you._:

:_I am beyond exceptional, Orion. I am perfection._: I stated. He laughed again, but it held no ill will, so I let it pass.

We continued to chat until he had to get ready for the last shipment of the cycle. With quick farewells, we ended our conversation, and I was just about to comm. the servicing staff to bring me a glass of refined energon when Skywarp popped into existence in the middle of my chamber.

"I wondered where you were." He gave me a once-over before walking to join me on my berth. "You weren't on the flight deck when I went to teleport Megatron and Blitzwing back to Kaon." He flopped down, but perched on an elbow, lying on his side to peer at my faceplate.

I grunted with my vents. It was an ungraceful noise, but this was Skywarp, so I did not care. "I'm not obligated to accompany our mighty leader in staring at a failure in the making." My lips curled as I glanced at my trine mate. "He obviously did not want me there, so I left to do much more fulfilling things."

"Like what, lying here and sulking like a spurned youngling?" Skywarp was obviously trying to stir a rise out of me, but I was too unimpressed with his unoriginal attempt to even feel irritated.

"I'm surprised you even know what that word means." I muttered, and went back to examining the shadows on my ceiling.

"Awww, don't be like that, Screamer. I know _many_ words!" He scooted a little closer just so he could peer overhead to flash me a huge grin. "Besides, I'm just showing my concern like a trine mate should!" A mischievous glint sparked in his optics. "Do I get a reward for being such a good trine mate?" He purred, and I froze, lazy stare widening into a gape as I suddenly realized just how _close_ he was. This was not good. This was not good at all. Such a glimmer in his optics could only mean one thing:

He had a stupid joke only he could appreciate on his blasted slagheap of a processor, and the brunt of that stupid joke was me.

"…What the are you doing…?!" My frame tensed. His faceplate began to descend, coming much too close for my liking. "Stop it! You're being ridiculous!" I protested, and tried to wiggle away. He chose that exact moment to swing himself over top, and trapped me under his limbs. He snickered. My optics grew wider. This was never a good sign.

"I'm warning you, Skywarp—" I tried to growl out a threat, but he cut in before I could.

"Oh c'mon, Screamer, when was the last time you gave me proper rewards for my servitude to your demanding aft, hm?" Chuckling in a manner that could only be described as pure evil, he leaned down, and, to my utter horror, puckered his lips. "Give your good trine mate a nice, hot, sexy kiss, won't you?" He cooed in a sickeningly sweet voice, and made loud kissing noises. Ice frosted inside my spark chamber. My fuel pump skipped a beat.

I began to panic.

"S-Stop it! Get away from me, you crazy fragger! Get away!" I grabbed and shoved his faceplate, bucking from my berth and trying to kick my legs. "Skywarp! G-Get—Gaaahhhh—!" Despite my valiant efforts, he kept coming closer, and I was forced to turn my faceplate away to avoid being violated by his revolting mouth. "Skywarp! Don't you fragging dare! _Don't you fragging_—" His lips fell on my neck cables, and, to my great horror and dismay, he began to suckle, making gross, wet sounds all the while vocalizing awful, exaggerated wanton moans. His vents spluttered in laughter. His glossa swiped over my main energon line.

My mouth fell open.

And I shrieked.

I thrashed.

I cursed him all the way down to his ancestor units, and scratched at his shoulders, pushing against his chassis. "What the frag is the matter with you?!" I screeched at him, and squeezed my optics offline with a grimace of pure disgust. "Get off! _Get off!_"

He gave me one last nibble before finally bursting into loud, obnoxious laughter. The idiot slagger rolled off, landing on his back, and cackled so hard that coolant fell from his optics. He clutched his stomach plating as though they ached, and kicked his peds, completely overtaken by hilarity. I shot up the instance he stopped pinning me to my berth, and glowered with such indignant _rage_ that I could've sworn my optic glass was going to crack. My fists trembled, and my wings hiked perpendicular to my back.

"You _glitch-heap_!" I let out a ringing cry, and sprang toward him, arms outstretched to give him the pummeling of his life. "I'm going to slag you!" I straddled his hips, and raised my fists to punch his faceplate in, but he only laughed harder. With a scream of pure fury, I unleashed my wrath, and hit him wherever I could. However, to my utter frustration, he easily fended off my attacks, despite his continuous snorts of mirth.

"Get out of my room! Get _out_ of my fragging _room_!" I shouted at him, fingers grabbing for his neck cables to throttle.

"My, my, Screamer, I didn't know this was your _fragging_ room." He shuttered an optic in a suggestive wink. "How kinky!" He grinned in the most maddening, shameless manner I'd ever seen, and I was certain something in my processors popped just then from how quickly my anger soared.

With an audial-splitting scream, I once again descended on him, vigor renewed. After several more attempts from me to seize his neck, he seemed to have grown bored of my efforts, and caught my wrists with his hands. I pulled on my arms and swore, trying to dislodge his fingers. However, I was reminded yet again of how much stronger he was than me, when even my hardest yanks did not loosen his grip.

A long moment of pointless flailing later, I finally became tired enough to stop, intakes running at full cycle speed and frame growing warm. Slumping down on top of him, I sat on his thighs, and glared with all the distaste I could muster. However, no matter how ugly of a scowl I wore, his optics continued to sparkle like I was the most amusing flier in the universe. "I really love being your trine mate, y'know," He snickered some more. "No other Seeker riles up quite like you."

My sneer scrunched my entire faceplate, and I snarled down at him with all the vehemence I could conjure from my spark:

"How about I tear out your optics, and _then_ we see how much you _love_ being my trine mate?"

"Why do you have to take the fun out of everything, Screamer?" His voice was light and careless as he dismissed my threat. "I was honestly tryin' ta help." He pouted, "Don't you feel at least a _little_ better after blowin' off some of that steam?"

"What slag are you spewing _now_?" I snapped, and chose to not remind myself of how much of that steam came from his recent act of inappropriate behaviour.

"Oh, c'mon, Screamer, gimme some credit here!" He actually appeared to be genuinely offended. "I can be perceptive too if I put my spark to it, you know." When I pursed my lips and narrowed my optics, he simply shrugged. "I donno. I just thought you had a fight with ol' Megs. You've both been acting kinda strange."

"_I_'ve been acting kind of strange? _He_'s the one who practically told me to frag off!" I retorted, and hissed in irritation. "I haven't done _any_thing that deserves such outrageous disrespect."

"Well, _that_'s new. You're usually so hard to get along with." At my glare, he laughed. "What? Your cute little aft can't make up for _all_ your disagreeable personality components."

Ignoring his comment, I glanced to the side. "I honestly didn't do anything this time." I grumbled. He obviously did not believe me if his raised brow ridge was any indication, but he wisely decided against making another lame joke.

"Well, whatever it is, you'd better figure it out, 'cause you got competition, cute little aft." My wing joints tensed, and my optics flew back to my purple trine mate's faceplate. "Shockwave's been getting an awful lot of attention from your beloved Megsy lately," Skywarp let go of my wrists, and crossed his arms under his helm, "and our almighty lord barely shows blatant interest in anyone." His endearing nicknames for Megatron made me cringe, but there were more important matters in discussion than terrible abbreviations of designations.

"_Shockwave?_ Are you serious?" My tone was dry, though I could not help a small frown from forming on my faceplate.

"Yeah, I mean, I guess it's understandable why Megs would like him. He's loyal, respectful, hardworking, devoted to the cause, and he's real good at kissing aft for a scientist." Skywarp made half-sparked shrug. "He's been runnin' lots'a tests on Blitzwing too ever since the mech grew a pair of wings. Maybe Megatron's having Shockwave do something involving fliers."

My frown deepened, and all thoughts of revenge against my trine mate for his previous act of insolence dissipated from my processors.

"How do you know all this?" I asked, curious. "Why would Megatron want Shockwave to experiment on anything involving us?"

"Well, I donno what the boss is thinkin'. I only spotted Blitzwing leaving the labs a couple of times."

Some of the tension bled from my wing joints, and I sighed through my vents. "Skywarp, just because Shockwave is curious about Blitzwing doesn't mean Megatron has an agenda." I explained patiently, as though I was soothing a paranoid sparkling. "Megatron is not so stupid as to try to double-cross us now. Without Vos's help, he cannot hope to win the war. Besides, if he _is_ indeed planning something, do you honestly think he'd be so sloppy as to have _you_ find out about it?"

"Well, I just thought I should tell you, even if it's probably nothing." Skywarp did not seem put-off that his suspicion was being rebuked. "Still, aren't you a _little_ worried? At least about your rank being threatened?"

"I'm the second-in-command, Skywarp. There's not much room for Shockwave to get promoted to." I deadpanned, lips forming a downward line, unimpressed with his reasoning.

"By title yeah, you are," Skywarp's expression actually turned serious, optics locking onto mine. "But I'm not exaggerating when I say Shockwave's gaining Megatron's favour, _fast_. Whatever Shockwave's been workin' on, Megatron's been super interested in it. By the pits, I don't think there's been a single cycle where he didn't visit Shockwave's lab. Don't you think that's kinda odd?"

It was indeed very odd. Even if Shockwave had lost his ability to blend into the wall, he was still every bit as bland and uninteresting as before, as far as I knew. However, unlike Skywarp, I was not worried about losing favour from Megatron. The bucket-helm practically gained my flimsy loyalty by _my_ favour of allowing him to participate in Vosian tradition. I was only bound to him by my oath, and I was not above throwing my dignity to the wind if it meant the well-being my fliers. I ruled an entire city-state. I had power and privilege Shockwave could not even dream of. Everything about me was much more significant than that mono-optic, so there was little concern for me, regardless of Megatron visiting his top scientist every cycle.

However, the thought that Megatron was neglecting me for _Shockwave_ did bother me to some extent. It was like a small, nagging glitch at the back of my processors, a tiny, black spot in my spark. It was not detrimental, but it would be a constant nuisance. I could not afford to have any nuisance, no matter how little, to distract me from my duties to my fliers and the war.

"Who cares if Megatron wants to frag his scientist? Maybe he has a fetish for disfigured bots." I vented a huff. "At least Lord Slagger's finally realized his limitations in finding an appropriate berth partner due to his hideous looks. If you ask me, those two probably belong together. Rather pathetic really, and terribly sad for us, that our glorious and wise leader would fall for _flattery_ of all things. A few pretty little words and he's all _enthralled_, how embarrassing." I drawled, and flipped a wrist in the air as though I didn't have a single care in the world.

"Really?" From the corners of my optics, I could see Skywarp studying my faceplate, brow-ridges in a frown. "You don't care at all?"

"No," I looked away as I climbed off my trine mate, "why should I?" I settled down beside him, lying on my back.

"Well, it's just that from the way the two of you were acting during the announcement ceremony, I was pretty sure somethin' was goin' on."

I clenched my jaw joints, and stared hard at the ceiling to prevent myself from turning to gape at Skywarp. _I_ did not even know what had transpired during the ceremony, but whatever it was, had it been truly that obvious?

The pendant Megatron had given me, hidden in subspace, suddenly weighed.

"I don't know what you are suggesting, Skywarp." I kept my optics averted as I answered, feigning disinterest.

"I'm not trying to suggest anything. I'm just calling it as I see it." Skywarp shifted beside me. I could feel him watching my faceplate. "And I'm not the only one who thinks that something was goin' on, y'know."

I bit down hard on my dentae, and fought to keep myself from startling out of surprise.

"TC agrees with me. Bladeflight hunted me down just to ask me a bunch of really awkward questions." Skywarp listed designations on his fingers, and my spark could have sputtered to extinction when I heard the Fighter Jet general's being dropped.

Oh Primus. If one could offline from embarrassment, I would have done so already. I have never been more thankful in my lifetime that Bladeflight hadn't confronted me directly about his suspicions. I even pitied Skywarp, just a little. Dealing with _that_ explosion of uncomfortable silences was no small feat when it came from a headstrong general determined to get answers.

Oblivious to my churning shame, Skywarp continued to count:

"I could've sworn Nightfire wanted to talk to me about that too," He said, folding another digit, "but he didn't end up doin' it. Just shook his helm and left, muttering to himself. I mean, slag, even _Ramjet_ asked me about it, and we all know he only asked 'cause he wants your cute little aft to himself."

"He does _not_." I scrunched my nose bridge, and turned my helm to the side to hide my faceplate from Skywarp's view.

"Well, if you insist…" My purple trine mate sounded hesitant, reluctant to drop the subject. I interrupted before he could speak on.

"Did you really come here just to bother me with pointless questions or did you actually have something more worthwhile in mind?" I was a bit more forceful than I'd intended, prompting a minute jerk from my wings. The following silence told me that Skywarp was very much aware of the slip, but he did not comment.

"Well, TC's gonna finish whatever he's doing in about eighteen breems, and I still have a joor before my patrol duties in Kaon, so I thought maybe we can all go out for a flight, y'know, as a trine."

Optics widening, I swung my helm around to face him, pleasantly surprised by our coinciding availability. My wings would have perked on my back if I weren't laying on top them, and a smile tugged at the corners of my lips.

"That leaves us with just enough time to run complicated maneuvers." I said, excitement mounting in my spark.

"Yeah! And speaking of maneuvers," Skywarp began, optics flashing to a bright shine, "I had this _awesome_ idea that—"

"-No, Skywarp," I cut in, tone flat and firm, "After what happened last time? No. No way."

"Awwww, c'_mon_, don't be like that, Star! I promise it's good this time!" He whined, but there was no way he could change my decision, not when his last ludicrous idea ended with Thundercracker in the bed bay.

"I don't care. The answer is still no."

I leaned back my helm, faceplate to the ceiling, and offlined my optics. Skywarp continued to plead for his case, but I only gave him half an audial of attention. Despite the many changes over the past stellar-cycle, one thing remained constant.

There was nothing quite as satisfying as hearing this idiotic trine mate of mine beg to return to my good graces.

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><p><strong>Notes:<strong> I'm honestly not entirely happy with this update, simply because it's so short, and I feel like I owe you guys more than just a bridging chapter. Unfortunately, this will have to do for now. Sorry! Next chapter will be better, I promise. (And I know it will be better, because it has fan-service that I think at least some of you will enjoy. -wink-) I apologize for the lateness of this update as well. Classes are going to be out in three weeks, then come finals. Afterwards, my time should free up, which I'm really looking forward to.

Special shout-outs once again to my lovely reviewers: _ElizabethA_, _A. Non_, _Random523_, _Starcee138_, _The-writing-Mew_, _keeperofcoldtoes_, _Ashcola17_, _Cjade_, _bunyipbabe_, _Koluno1986_, _Devlinn Reiko_, _zantsu_, _Skylark Starflower_, _Kira michi_, _heretherebemonsters_, _Cloud Kitsune17_, _ladyredvelvet_, _Sneer_, _tiedwithribbons_, _Eiswolf-Zero_, _Trixxybaby1995_, _rj545_, and _theboombox_. As always, getting your feedback makes me smile. Huge thanks and hugs for taking the time to let me know what you guys thought as you read the chapter. :)

First-person POV strikes again! I do have an idea as to why Megatron is acting a little off, at least according to Starscream. If you have any guesses, I'd love to hear them. Orion was fun. Such a sweet little average-Joe. Elita was referred as "he" due to reasons listed in the first "Notes" at the bottom of the Prologue chapter.

Feedback would be great! The review box is conveniently placed riiiight below this message~

You know you want to. ; )


	21. XXI

Disclaimer: It hasn't changed, unfortunately.

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><p>XXI<p>

I _despised_ Shockwave.

I glared at the mono-optic, arms crossed, and kept my shoulder pointed toward him. He only stared back, holding a data pad close to his chassis, helm in a slight tilt. The single orb of light on his lack of a faceplate glowed with seeming innocence. It did not shutter even once since I'd arrived, following my entrance to my stance right in the middle of the chamber.

We were both waiting for Megatron in what was now dubbed as the "throne room" of the base. Wherever the pits that blasted gladiator was, he was late, no matter that I had never made an appointment with him. Shockwave's ped moved a wingtip. My optics narrowed. I mustered all the hostility I could onto my faceplate, in great hopes that my disdainful expression would disturb him enough to scurry back to his labs, where he should stay for the rest of eternity and never again come out.

My strong aversion toward this deformed ground pounder was completely irrational. Shockwave has never done anything to me in particular to deserve my scorn. However, there was simply absolutely nothing I did not loathe about him.

His entire appearance gave me the itch to purge. From the horn-like appendages on the sides of his boxy helm to the flat bottoms of his peds, everything inspired disgust in me. His plating was covered with imperfections, scratches and minor dents, even old chemical stains. For Primus's sakes, he was more unkempt than the _drones_.

And what was he _thinking_ with his paintjob anyways? He was practically all the same shade of purple. He could have at least made an effort at looking a little less boring than his dull, nonexistent personality.

Then there was the whole kiss-aft suck-up attitude he exuded, like wafts of putrid rust. I could not stand it. Though he remained still, I could tell from the way he positioned himself that he was anxious for Megatron's company, ever eager to report what little progress he has made in his experiments, followed by garish flatteries that peeled paint from even the most narcissistic. I would not be surprised if he coveted for Megatron's attention like a swooning whore. He'd probably lick our mighty leader's big aft if he had a glossa to lick with.

Soundwave froze at the console. His hands hung in the air, digits hovering above the keys. I stopped my glaring at a certain purple obstruction to glance at the blue mech. The dim visor glinted, and I frowned, shuffling a few steps back and wrapping my arms tighter around myself.

The fragger had better not been reading my thoughts, or else there would be two very lovely scorch marks adorning his chassis within the next few kliks courtesy of my null rays.

Soundwave proved to be lucky indeed. He was silent for a moment, then he turned, helm in a respectable dip in my direction.

"Lord Megatron: Arrival imminent." He intoned, monotonous as always.

"How imminent?" I asked, shifting on my thrusters.

"Arrival to command center: approximation – one breem and twenty-three kliks." Soundwave answered.

"Very well." I nodded once in reply, and unwound my arms to let them dangle by my sides. I did not want to look like I was looking forward to seeing Megatron. After all, I was not _Shockwave_, who definitely perked up upon hearing Soundwave's announcement.

My lips pressed together. What an insufferable slag-kisser.

Soundwave returned to his typing. The taps of his fingers against the terminal were the only noises breaking the silence. I resumed my glaring at Shockwave. The purple scrap-helm looked back, and he seemed to have gained a demeanor of question.

"Would you like to speak to Lord Megatron first, Prince Starscream?" He asked, voice fluctuating in lilts of pretentious sophistication. I scowled.

"Are you trying to give me _permission_ to speak first, Shockwave?" I hissed, and bared my dentae in stretch of a grin, wings flaring higher on my back.

"Oh no, please forgive me. I have no intention whatsoever of doing so." He bowed a little, and I had the sudden instinct that he was mocking me. "I was simply acknowledging the fact that you outrank me, your Highness," He said, and straightened to catch my gaze in a stare, "in more ways than mere Decepticon hierarchical status, of course."

There it was: that suck-up attitude. Anger was bitter when fueled by spark-deep distaste. I sneered, and narrowed my optics.

"Good that you do," I enunciated every syllable, tone quiet and chilled by a sweet jibe. "Remember it well, grounder-pounder," My voice lowered to a soft purr, and a derma-deep smile etched into my faceplate, "Because that will never change, unlike the mere temporary _labeling_ upon my wings."

Shockwave did not respond. The only indication that he understood what underlined my words was a brief, bright flash of his optic. After a motionless moment of silence, he nodded, and inclined his torso forward in an impeccable gesture of submission. I gave him a once-over, and scoffed a huff through my vents. Skywarp thought _this_ was my competition? What a joke.

Soundwave stopped his typing, and stood up from his seat. He turned, facing the door, and barely a klik later, thudding ped-falls could be heard. My spark did a happy little skip, anticipation mixed with a dash of joy. I crushed it down, as delight had no place in my visit. I had to remember that I was not pleased to see him. I was _definitely_ not looking forward to seeing him again, not since the events of the previous cycle, when Blitzwing failed to learn the wings Nightfire and I had gifted him with.

With a gentle "whoosh", the doors slid open. Megatron strode into view. His helm lifted, and his optics met mine without a single moment's pause, glowing as though flames beneath embers. My spark seized. Heat combusted within its chamber. My intakes hitched and stopped, and, lips falling apart, I gaped at him, cheek-plates flushed and optics widening. I must have looked incredibly stupid, staring at him like a swooning idiot. I tried to stop, but as long as his gaze held mine, I could not move, breath taken from me as the air grew warm, the rush of coolant barely prickling over my flustered systems.

Our contact lasted only a split of a klik. He glanced at me, then turned away, the curt tug of his neck-cables almost hasty. This was odd, very odd. Megatron did not _do_ hasty, because it suggested uncertainty, perhaps even weakness, unable to hold the gaze of another. My lord was never unsure. He was the immovable, leading the Decepticon Armada with blunt force and meticulous control. His spark did not hesitate. His position could not afford it. Besides, a confused, disheveled Megatron? I bit back my snickering. Now _that_ was a sight I would pay handsomely to see.

Megatron turned, and his optics fell on Shockwave, who immediately snapped his heels in attention and belted out an "All hail Lord Megatron!", like a fresh cadet infatuated with his commander. To my great perplexity and surprise, Megatron actually looked amused, the firm line of his lips easing into a minute tilt, almost a smile. My fingers curled. They dug into my palms. My fists clenched, and my arms began to tremble, as did my wings hiking on my back.

"I hope you aren't expecting _me_ to hail your designation, Megatron." I spoke before anyone else did, the bite of my voice cynical and bitter. "I say with no exaggeration whatsoever that there is very little to hail _about_, oh magnificent and illustrious leader." I twisted the words, which easily slid from my glossa like a delicate sip of sweetened energon. His optics returned to mine with a brisk turn, and my canopy heaved in an intake, reveling the moment I once again had his undivided attention.

Basking under his notice, my spark sang. Pleasure tingled like cascading water droplets, and my flight sensors itched with the need for touch, charge gathering at the tips. My wings flicked in invitation. I cocked my hips, and plastered on the most enticing smirk I could allow. Fingertips trailing along the length my thighs, I rested my hands against the sides of my hips, and parted my peds with a slight sway. The same dirty trick worked wonders every single time. In one move, I was the only mech in the chamber that the ex-gladiator knew, whose faceplate lost all hints of distaste toward my unflattering words, optics flashing in a burst like stars sweltering into supernovas.

My smirk grew bolder. My chin lifted. I looked back at him, triumph a steady strum along the quickening swirl of my spark.

I loved being beautiful.

Gaze narrowing onto mine, Megatron took one step toward me. My intakes gasped, and I almost called out his name, but he suddenly stopped, next step already in motion when he yanked himself from completing it. His massive frame leaned, prompted by momentum, by his utter urge to approach me. However, with an abrupt stiffening of his joints, he halted, peds planted and gripping the floor. For a moment, he simply stared, lips pressing tighter. Then, slowly, he released a deep blast of air, and took back his step, optics dimming to their usual glow. What little glimpse I had of his inner workings disappeared as his faceplate resumed its familiar mask of indifference. The only reply he gave me, in the end, was merely a low grunt before he turned to Soundwave, ignoring my presence altogether.

My smirk fell. My brow ridges knitted. My wings sagged little by little as disappointment sank its icy claws into my spark, seeping a chill that throbbed with the beat of my fuel pump. My fingers tightened around my plating. I bit my jaw hinges. How _dare_ he? He did not even _greet me_ properly!

My hands slipped from my hips. They returned to my sides, curling back into fists.

"Megatron!" I shouted, the shrill timbre of my voice echoing in the room. Megatron did not respond right away, but Soundwave paused in his report, helm inclining toward me in a blank gaze. His visor flashed, and I jolted, wings making a violent shiver. However, he did not protest or exhibit any reaction to my interruption, only moving to bow as Megatron turned in leisure, and pinned me with a hard stare.

"Soundwave has much more important matters to report than you, Starscream." He said, the growl of his engine impatient and aggressive, "I will speak to you after immediate matters are dealt with." And just like that, he dismissed me once again, giving me a back view of his helm. "Wait and stay silent." He added as though an afterthought, a careless toss of a command, "If Shockwave can do it, so can you." Upon his words, I bristled, even more offended than before.

"You haven't even greeted me yet, Megatron!" I cut in just as Soundwave began to speak, and the self-appointed Decepticon leader tensed, frame visibly rigid. However, he paid me no further attention, only instructing Soundwave to continue with his report.

"I'm warning you," I snarled before Soundwave could start, "I don't take blatant disrespect lightly!" My optics narrowed, and I glared holes into his helmet. I willed him to turn, to face me, to engage me in a spat that only he could reciprocate in equal force that would rouse a passion long dormant in my spark.

Megatron's fingers jerked, as though to form fists. "You will _wait_ as you are _told_, air commander." His voice sounded strained, tension waiting to snap, and I instantly perked up, knowing what it meant.

_This_ was familiar.

_This_ I could turn in my favour.

"I will only do so when you give me proper greetings, as I deserve!" I took a step forward, and swung up an arm to point at his back.

"You _deserve_ what I _give_, Seeker." He has yet moved one cable, but his words held an edge. My logic circuits recognized its threat, and I was very aware that I should shut up right about now if I wanted to return to Vos without a crushed wing embedded with grooves from his digits. However, the thought only thrilled me, urging me to taunt him further. My spark quivered with absolute delight, and I tried to sneer, but ended with a haughty smirk instead when I realized that I had him exactly where I wanted him, focused on me, _only_ on me.

"If you haven't noticed, _oh wise commander_, you have yet given me anything of value to speak of!" I huffed through my vents, and stuck out my chassis. "I have feigned ignorance on your obvious favouring of your subordinates. I have held my glossa toward your continuous disregard of my hard work, which, just so you remember, has yet yielded proper reward and acknowledgement. I had naively assumed that you are simply inept as a leader due to your less than admirable roots, but I have since found that I am wrong." I paused, and bared my dentae in a grin, gaze pointed. "Your incompetence comes strictly from your utter lack of realization where true talent lies!" My wings flared, and stretched to flank my sides. It was a blatant gesture, one he would not recognize even if he were to see it, but the fact that I had dared to tempt him in such a vulgar manner alone stroked the heat in my core, one that laboured my ventilation and tickled my sensors.

"It would do you well to silence yourself, Starscream." His voice had grown rough, low and coarse, but I knew he could not catch me if he tried, not from such a distance. He would not attack me, as any harm done to my person would leave a mark on the already strenuous allegiance of Vos to Kaon. Even if he were impulsive enough to lash out, I was too quick, too agile. I could easily avoid his reach.

If he were to wring me under his hold, well…

He would have to goad me closer first.

"Resorting to petty threats, mighty Megatron?" I hummed, demeanor transparently coy as I quirked my helm to the side. "Would this be the _pit fighter_ talking now?"

There was a pause, during which silence thinned under the murmur of cooling fans. Megatron did not reply. Instead, he turned, and cast me a steady, penetrating gaze. He studied me, as though to strip me bare to my spark. The look usually excited me, but here, now, it suddenly made me nervous, alarmed my spark, until my self-assured smirk, as much as I tried to maintain it, fell from my lips. Despite my best efforts, my peds moved on their own. My thrusters clicked against the floor, and I scooted back, arms crossing over my canopy.

No, this look was different. It did not claim. It did not promise a plundering that would leave me grasping for more. There was nothing personal about this look, nothing that spoke of desire, of need. It was calculated, unfounded by base-most coding, intentions stemmed from the processors instead of the spark.

"I have no time for entertainment." Megatron spoke, tone cold but smooth. He kept himself subdued, held back, surprisingly controlled for a mech with no limit to fury. If it weren't for his optics, I would have thought he was as calm as an undisturbed pool of energon. As they were, burning like the smelting pits, however, I knew he was angry, but not in the manner I expected, not in the slightest.

"How _dare_ you?!" I clutched onto that anger, and began to protest, "I am _not_ entertain—" I prepared to shout, but he cut through my words before I could:

"Save your slippery glossa for those who concern themselves with your trivialities, _Vosian_, and tell me the purpose of your visit." He left no room for argument, voice carrying the full weight of his rank above mine. "If you have nothing of worth to say, get out of my sight. There is punishment for disobedience, and I can assure you: they _will_ be carried out should you refuse to desist as I have explicitly instructed. I have no time for tantrums. Leave at once if you are merely _bored_." His lips curled. His optics narrowed. "You have proven more than enough that your presence here in my base is of little significance. There is protocol. You will follow them. My time is not to cater to your whim."

The prickly words, the antagonistic attitude – they were expected, anticipated, even. However, the stark professionalism, the complete lack of anything personalized…that was what struck, what rooted me to the floor, shocked and speechless. All of a sudden, I was his second-in-command, _only_ his second-in-command. I was no longer his Seeker, and that left my processors reeling in confusion and my spark aching with loss.

I…could not be only a subordinate of his. I _was not_ only a subordinate of his. I was Crown Prince to my people, to all aerial frame-types on the planet, who were loyal to _me_, not to him. He had the support of Vos because _I_ had commanded it from my citizens. He has not attained it himself. I was much more important than just one mech he had recruited. My role was unique. My status held _exceptional_ significance. I was special!

…But—

But then…

"…Why are you—…" A static-filled whisper slipped from my vocalizer. I startled, and hurried to bite it back, to swallow the remainder of the question that was plaguing my thoughts. Keeping his gaze was starting to sting. I couldn't do it. Averting my optics, I skidded back, and lowered my helm, wings flicking as I fought their urge to dip, to droop.

He…

Megatron.

…has hurt me yet again.

This was not the first time he has hurt me. This was not the first time I was feeling like a complete fool.

He has hurt me yet again…and I had let him.

…_Why_?

_Why_ did I continue to allow him to hurt me?

What have I ever gained from this, from all of this, that was of use and advantage for me and my city?

Nothing, my processors told me. I have gained absolutely nothing.

My only notable accomplishment was getting entangled in a war that would leave many of my fliers maimed or worse, deactivated. For Primus's sakes, I was not even an ally anymore, but an alleging prince, sealing the fate of all under my rule for my own selfish desires. I have been enslaved to this ground pounder's cause, bound by my word to serve him. I was a possession, an object to be toyed with, and why was I surprised? What else could I possibly be?

Megatron was a mech who had lived through unimaginable horrors. He would not hesitate to seize a weakness and delve deep into its crevice, no matter how despicable or vile such exploitations made him. I understood that. I could even appreciate it. So why? _Why_ was I continuously taken off-guard when he does the same with me, a fool of a Seeker who could never refuse the allure of rough digits against fluttering wings?

I took a shuddering intake, and offlined my optics. I could feel him watching me, the tangible press of weight against my shoulders. That was all he ever did, chaining me, keeping me grounded, beneath his control. A tyrant was not going to leave Vos alone as an independent state. By the pits, I had told Skywarp so myself, and look what I ended up getting myself into.

The Decepticon insignias on my wings started to throb. They scorched worse than even the most cutting of laserfire. Everyone in the throne room was looking at me, but I could only shrink into myself, tracing patterns in the small cracks on the floor when I reactivated my visual sensors. What an _idiot_ Megatron must see me as…displaying myself like a cheap prostitute at a street corner in hopes to captivate his attention. Why was I was trying so hard, working so diligently, when I come out of it with nothing at all, not even recognition from the one ground pounder whom I should never have to impress in the first place?

Disheartened, I gave in, and allowed my wings hang low, tips pointed to the floor. I wanted to storm out of the chamber in a fashion only those with my lineage would know how, but I had nowhere to go once I pass through the door, unfamiliar as I was with the Decepticon base of operations. I couldn't even fly home, cut off from the sky. Without Skywarp, I was stranded, lost in a foreign city without any authority, not when the one mech who could give me such preferred to refuse it. I felt small, pathetic, facing the perpetrator whom I had allowed to hurt me. I did not know what to do, and Megatron was still waiting for a response, stare blistering against my plating.

I wanted to return to my tower, where I was safe, away from his optics. His optics, which had so completely enthralled me before, now terrified me, as they were the cause of my imprisonment to this desire I wanted no longer a part of. This game has cost me, and I did not know how to get out.

However…

My right wing flicked.

…I knew he desired me as well. At least that much was true.

My wing joints tensed. My optics widened.

If that much was true, then…why?

_Why_ was it so difficult for me to charm him when I knew, for a fact, that he wanted me, and have yet to have me?

…Of _course_.

My intakes cut to a stop.

I've been losing only because I had allowed myself to become attached, because I had mistakenly believed that his desire equated care, if only to a limited extent. I had forgotten that a mech did not need to be involved with another to be intimate. A frag was a frag, nothing more. If I were simply a bit more agreeable, even corporal yearning could be utilized to my advantage. It had the potential of being molded into something more, something that anchored deeper, which would inevitably firm my footing over this ground pounder. Megatron might have experience in his favour, but there was one thing he has never had, and that was _me_: a Seeker, a luxury worshipped by many and much coveted for.

I straightened, and hid my intentions, burying it along with the hurt in my spark.

I could be very agreeable indeed if I wished it. Megatron had no idea who he was tampering with.

"I am glad I finally have your attention, my lord." For the first time, I spoke his title without any hint of sarcasm or bite. Hips in a slight sway, I approached him, and presented him my most disarming of smiles. "I had to work very hard to get it. After all, I had to compete with capable adversaries." I walked closer, steps at leisure even as I passed respectable distance. Our energy fields touched, and his optics flashed, but I was not deterred in the slightest, looked up and tilting my helm to give him a glimpse of the gentle arc of my neck.

"I heard from Skywarp that your scientist is experimenting with Blitzwing. Is that correct?" I lifted a hand, and, keeping our optics locked, wrap it around the barrel of the fusion cannon. "I am only curious, my lord, as to why I have not been informed." I fluttered my wings, waving my wing tips well within his reach. To tantalize was bold. I knew he liked to touch them, pinching them between his fingers just to see me squeal and beg.

"That is correct." He answered, not yet giving in, though a visible wave of tension swept across his frame. I knew he would not back away, because that would concede weakness, something he would never allow. Perfect. I hailed my victory in silence. This would prove to be easier than I'd anticipated. He continued to speak, as though the gliding motion of my fingertips against the weapon I had gifted him with was something to be ignored. However, his expression had grown rigid, a minute tightening in his jaws that exposed much more than the even glow of his optics. "I had indeed asked Shockwave to study the anti-gravitational devices you had installed into Blitzwing's systems." He explained. "I wanted him to look into the possibility of ground pounders obtaining, at the very least, the ability to hover."

My hand stopped. My fingers paused to a wisp of a touch against the fusion cannon. I was genuinely surprised, optics widening a little. Megatron wanted to _fly_? I almost burst into laughter. Despite the spectacle of a failure that was Blitzwing, he wanted to bring _more_ ground pounders, whom did not even have wings, into the sky?

Just to humour him, I made a thoughtful, lilting hum, and puckered my lips in a slight pout.

"Shockwave cannot possibly unravel the inner-workings of flight-frame anti-gravs, Lord Megatron." I resumed my teasing strokes, and gave him a glance over the ridges of my brows. "Why didn't you ask _me_ about the project?"

"I wanted to ensure its possibility first," His voice lowered, its texture softening. His guard was slipping. His demeanor had changed, the mask shielding his thoughts cracking on the edges as he became progressively more distracted by my touch. "I had every intention of contacting you should the results return positive." His helm lowered, tilting a split of a wingtip as though to swoop down for a kiss. In that moment, my spark burst in heat. I had him – I knew. I smiled, and leaned closer, pushing back when his energy field flared against mine.

"Of course you did." I murmured. He looked back, a whisper of charge buzzing against my digits from the dormant fusion cannon.

Encouraged by his allowance to my caresses, I lifted both hands, and rested them on top of his chassis. I traced the Decepticon symbol with the tips of my fingers, and pressed ever closer, optics never once leaving his in a silent query for permission as I trailed my palms down. They slid past harsh angles, felt across deep scratches on his frame. Dipping my digits into the seams, I made my wings quiver, and parted my lips while my intakes took in a quiet gasp only he, being this close, could hear. His plating was warm, much more so than what was normal for even a heavy system such as that of a miner's. His cooling fans were a constant hum in the silence of the chamber, and his optics had narrowed, but he never commanded me to stop, hands hanging down by his sides, unmoving, clenched.

"Soundwave, Shockwave, dismissed." He stated, voice a rumbling echo deep inside his chassis. Two "affirmative"s answered, and two sets of ped-falls left the chamber, fading as the doors slid closed.

A smirk stretched over my lips before I stop it. However, the slip in my act mattered little, not when my hands lingered at his hips, yet still, he has not rejected me. My fingers kept just out of range of his spike housing, kneading the hard, thick plating just around the hidden panel. Their tips met heat, which progressively burned hotter the closer they trailed toward the cover concealing the impressive spike I had only once seen. His frame tensed until it trembled, a tiny shiver that belied volumes on his fraying control. Smirk growing bigger, I flashed him a playful, flirtatious wink, and pressed my digits hard on his interface panel.

The reaction was immediate. With an abrupt swing of his arm, Megatron grasped my left wing, once again surprising me with how swift he could be. He clutched the light, thin metal, pulling me forward, and _squeezed_, fingers crushing around the sensitive tip of my appendage. Such beautiful, raw pain shot through my neural pathways that I was rendered rigid and speechless, piercing, hot agony shredding the sensitivity of my flight system like surging volts of cackling electricity.

"Ahhh—!" A cry was torn from my lips as he gave my wing another merciless squeeze, pinching the cluster of sensors without any regard. My instinct was to buck and thrash, but lecherous abandon overrode it without a moment's pause, drenching my spark in sheer, wanton need. I writhed against his frame, until he bore my entire weight with his body. A whimper sang from my vocalizer, while my intakes hitched in short, sharp gasps.

My fingers rubbed harder against the seams of his spike panel, and, at last, he relinquished a response. A strangled grunt accompanied by a hiss from his vents was all the warning I got before his left hand caught my other wing tip, treating it with an equally cruel, wrenching squeeze. I squealed, back arching and vents spluttering. The stabbing pressure around my brittle sensors was like liquid fire, searing every neural node in my system. It swept over my frame, a wave of heat that soaked every crevice, and collected into a throbbing inferno deep in my core, fueling my desire. My valve quivered. Its walls moistened. It clenched inside me – wet, hot, ready, and inspired a loud, guttural moan through my lips, shuttering the glow of my vision.

Oh _yes_.

I raised my wings, and pressed them harder into his hands.

This felt _good_.

I offlined my optics, and leaned ever closer, the glass of my canopy squeaking against the coarse surface of his plating. My cooling fans were loud, but they were drowned out, overwhelmed by the roar of his central engine system. His fingers gave my wing tips one last pinch, and hurried to move on, roaming over the expanses of my quivering appendages. His digits were harsh, digging into the thin metal of my wings, and it hurt, but the dull throbs dotting my sensory network only thrilled me further, pinpricks of sensation heightening the magnitude of my desire.

"Nnngh—…Ah-…-Ahhh!"

Noises of encouragement left my vocalizer. I stroked his interface panel, urging it to retract, to reveal the spike undoubtedly rigid with charge. One of his hands left my wing. It ventured down, and cupped around the perk of my aft. It gave a firm grope, and I let out a high-pitched keen, though the sound was barely allowed to sail before he swooped down from above, and crushed our lips together in a heated, fervent kiss.

He yanked me closer, in want of more contact. I pulled my hands from his spike cover, a mere klik before our crotch-plates collided. He shifted his hips, and friction blossomed, rattling my frame in bliss. I clutched his shoulders, lips and glossa entangled with his as I fought him for dominance, even though I knew it was futile, and that I was never inclined to win.

With a deep, rough growl, he bit my downer lip component. I cried out, optics flashing online for a split moment, but I was allowed no reprieve, no time to find my footing. He dove in, swallowing my cry, and overpowered me completely. Everything was no less than a violation. Our movements were graceless, desperate, crude, powered by the sheer greed for more, and it was—

It was everything I've ever wanted.

Driven by desire, Megatron did not touch. He conquered. I allowed him, but this time, it was not only because I loved his ruthless handling of my frame, but that I was in control, even if I had to give him free reign over my body. I was the one holding the ends of the chains, this time, binding him to me. There was nothing more he lusted for more than having me, and he shall, but only what I was willing to offer in trade for an advantage over my lord.

He tore his lips from mine, a curse snarled through gritted dentae. He looked down at me, optics flaring to their full shine, and I was instantly taken, drawn as I was to the passion crackling as light at the edges of his vision. I grabbed onto his shoulders, and ground our crotch-plates together. If he saw me as a whore, then so be it. I would whine and plead like one, pitiful, but arousing - the complete debasement of a ruling Crown Prince.

"P-Please—! I want—" I cut myself off with an urgent, sharp whimper, and squirmed in his arms, begging him with my opitcs as though I had been rendered incapable of coherent speech. Regardless, he understood what I was asking, and, with great reluctance, pushed my hips away. There was a small click, one barely audible over the humming of our heavy ex-vents. I looked down, and felt my breath catch, watching with avid fascination as his spike emerged, a moan of satisfaction echoing the anticipatory clench of my valve.

Oh_ yes_…I licked my lips with my glossa.

What a view it was.

The spike pressurized, lusciously long, delectably thick. It throbbed with heat, and its tip glistened, coated with transfluid that beaded and slid down along its rigid length. It was definitely a spike to be proud of – by Primus was it delicious, and I was suddenly struck with the curiosity of how many has had their optics feast on such an obscene, stimulating sight. Not that it mattered. I smirked, and gave him a mischievous glance with a tilt of my helm. I would show him how exceptional I could be in anything I put my spark into, even if it were being a shameless expert of an alley whore.

Megatron did not utter a single sound as I pushed him back against the console. I was surprised he had allowed me to, but the glint in his optics told me he was simply testing how far I was willing to go. Leaning against the terminal with his thighs parted and spike exposed, he looked almost vulnerable. A sharp tingle of arousal shot through my needy valve, and I swallowed, legs trembling as I overrode the command to retract my panel.

I could grow to like this, seeing him open, bared, for _me_.

Without any stall, I pressed my hands flat on his thighs, and sank to my knees. At that, he tensed, undoubtedly a little surprised, but anything he might have wanted to say was cut off by a grunt as I extended my glossa, and gave his spike a long, indulgent stroke of a lick. His hands tightened around the edge of the terminal. His intakes hissed. Mighty Megatron must have been extremely charged to be so sensitive so soon, and that made me grin, sending him a coy little glance as my thumb rubbed the plating of his thighs. I swept my glossa over the ridges of his spike, tracing the sensor nodes with slow, precise caresses. I suckled the underside of his interface hardware, and lapped up the clear dribbles of transfluid, making my way toward the top.

The spike was humming with energy, fully drawn and stiff. I scooted closer, and spread my knees further apart as I wrapped my fingers around its base, and gave its tip a swirl of my glossa. The thick, strong thighs on either sides of my helm jerked, followed by a bitten back groan. Optics flickering up, I caught him staring at me, biting his dentae to fight off an expression of pleasure.

He was completely engrossed in my actions, fixated as I parted my lips, wet from his fluid. I leaned forward, and wrapped them around the head of his spike, taking my time to drag a lick over its head before sliding my glossa under the firm, strumming phallus. I took in more of him into my mouth, moaning as its ridges rubbed against the lining of my orifice. The sound vibrated around his equipment, and he let out a blast of boiling-hot air, a sigh bursting from his vents as his cooling fans roared, ever louder. The console squealed as his grip tightened, its edge denting. Encouraged, I wrapped my hands fully around the base of his spike, and started to gently suck.

His response was instant. With a snarl of a moan, his hips shuddered, and expletives left his vocalizer, hissing whispers. Spark giddy with accomplishment, I smiled around his spike, and eagerly sank down further, swallowing more of its length. I opened my jaws until their hinges ached, and tried to engulf as much of him as I could, stretching the fit. Lewd, little noises accompanied my suckles and licks. I flexed the supple lining of my mouth around him, and mimicked the clenching motions of my valve with my hands, massaging his spike.

The minute spasms of his hips spoke volumes on the slip of his self-control. He could barely keep himself from thrusting into my mouth, which, as thrilling as the thought was, would be far too much for my limited stretch. As reward for his efforts, I bobbed my helm up and down, increasing the speed little by little as I teased his throbbing spike. Fingertips rubbing against the sensor nodes embedded within the ridges, I serviced him, wings flicking in need while I had no hand to spare to appease the burn heavy in my core.

Megatron let out another deep groan, hips beginning to shift in tandem to my motion. Encouraged by his succumbing to my administrations, I sucked harder, and moved with renewed vigor. My hands tightened until firm around the girth of his spike, and pumped along the length I could not reach with my mouth. A moan spilled from his lips. I responded with one of my own. His intakes gasped, and he spat out a curse, thighs jerking as he lost his last bit of control, and thrust forward.

The tip of his spike hit the back of my throat. I whined, the impact stressing my already sore jaw joints. However, the throbbing ache was hardly forefront in my processors. I hurried to match his thrusts, and eagerly took his aggression, flustering to catch his pace. More transfluid dribbled from the tip. I swallowed without a second thought. My hands pumped his spike, and oh it felt absolutely _exquisite_, its length so hard and its slide so slick. My thighs shook. My valve spasmmed. Lubricant rushed down in a wave of heat, and my panel flew open, the fluid spurting from a desperate squeeze of my interface port.

There was nothing more I wanted than to bury my fingers deep inside myself in one, smooth thrust. To feel the sweltering wetness envelope my digits. To stroke the nodes until they stung with bliss. My valve quivered, in such utter need of penetration that I almost relented, almost gave in. However, Megatron chose that exact moment to grab the sides of my helm, and plunge his spike into my mouth – enthusiastic, always willing. His snarls and grunts almost went unheard over the loud rumbling of his engines, and his spike, rigid, hot, stimulated the sensors inside my mouth much alike how it would for those untouched in my valve. I whimpered, and writhed on my knees. My port wept for attention, squeezing in attempts to elevate some of the burn, the rousing frustration.

There was nothing I could do to bring myself relieve. My hands were the only barrier keeping Megatron from shoving his entire spike down my throat, which would not be pleasant despite how much my lust-fueled spark excited for it. Instead, I matched his vicious onslaught with equal frantic abandon, and fantasized that he was fragging me hard into the floor. I offlined my optics, and imagined the same massive spike ravaging my mouth doing the same to my valve, friction tight and hot against the highly sensitized lining of my interface port. He would slam his entire length inside me, and bury its blunt tip deep inside my core, striking the cluster of sensors at the very top without any regard of how much the action made me wail and shriek in torturous ecstasy.

Oh _yes_…

My hips shifted.

Oh _please_—

My back arched.

Over and over again, he would plunge into me, hefting up my knees and spreading me wide. He would make me watch as he rammed into my overstuffed port, stripping me bare of all pride and worth while he forced my sight on the lubricant coating the swollen rim of my valve, stretched and oozing fluid. The imagery created phantom sensations that wrecked arousal all through my systems. It was frustrating. I keened. But oh it felt good. It felt so good.

Charge flared. The heat was unbearable. I let out a muffled cry, trembling violently as more lubricant leaked out of my exposed port, sliding down my thighs in tickling trails. The air was hot. It was agonizing. This was torture, and yet, I have never been more overwhelmed in pleasure and bliss. His movements became erratic. His thrusts grew uneven. He was dangling on the verge of overload – I knew, from the sputtering of his cooling fans that blasted spastic gusts of heated air against my wings. His intakes were hitching, panting. I have never heard him so undone. I wanted to online my optics, to catch the moment, that glorious split in time, when the ground pounder who has ensnared the only sovereignty on the planet under his authority shatter his control, his mask, completely unraveled, under the hands of his enslaved. However, I was too caught up in the whirlwind, to overcome by his passion to do anything aside from urging him on, to go over the edge. I _begged_ him to fill me, to mark me, to _show_ _me_ how utterly _vulnerable_ I was able to render him with just my touch alone.

In one gasp into silence, his frame completely stilled. His fingers dug into the sides of my helm, and his optics flashed, a bright burst of light before they shuttered. His lips parted. His torso leaned. His vocalizer uttered a soft, static-laden call of my designation, and transfluid gushed from his spike, filling my mouth before I could swallow.

His overload swept over his frame, rippling his energy field. It was blunt, unforgiving, and it flooded my oral cavity with sticky liquid that was almost hot enough to scald. I tried to screech, battering his thighs as I struggled to pull away, to free my lips from his equipment. However, he did not acknowledge me at all, keeping me exactly where I was while he reveled in his peak. A long moment passed, several grueling kliks of me thrashing in hysterics while I tried to swallow and talk at the same time. He finally noticed my discomfort, and let go, allowing me to pull away and fall back. Making one last swallow, I spat out the rest. The last bit of his release showered onto my faceplate, and made a big mess all over my torso, warm transfluid dripping down along the tinted glass of my heaving canopy.

For a while, neither of us spoke. The whirr of our cooling fans droned in the silence, filling his throne room with a gentle hum. He did not say a word, and I did not lift my helm to check if he was looking at me. All I could feel was the transfluid dripping down from my parted lips, and the soft trembling of my thighs as my valve continued to shiver, pleading to be penetrated as I sat a puddle of my arousal, which had begun to cool.

A brushing touch against the back of my helm.

I jumped, optics onlining in a flash. My vision was not clear. His release had splattered over my optic glass, slowly oozing down the side of my faceplate. I could see the blurred outline of his silhouette. I could tell he was looking at me, gaze bright but subdued. His hand caressed me, as though to a lover, possessive, yet not insistently so. He leaned against the console, relaxed, content, and his optics glowed, warm with an emotion I had only gotten glimpses of during his briefest lapses in character.

Basking in the afterglow of our one-sided coupling, he was spread out before me, exposed, open for plundering. His hand reached forward, and brushed away the cooling transfluid from my cheek plates, the contact a mere whisper compared to the crushing clench of his digits against my wings. The simple, light gesture stung, much more than any of his acts of violence. Of all the outcomes I had expected, this had not been one of them, and it struck me, hard, in a place that had not felt anything but ice since the death of my Intended.

…I did not know why Megatron had chosen that exact moment to show me, to bare to me, an admittance that did not need words to speak. This was to be a game, a perverse play of power, and I had made my decision to win, to overthrow him as the one who holds the chains. This was all the proof I needed that I had caught him, that I had him thoroughly fooled. I now had an edge over him, yet this—…this was too easy. Too easy for what I had been prepared to do.

I was going to win. That much I knew. This was only the first battle, the first step in a long, winding path of manipulative seductions.

So why?

_Why_…was he acting like this?

I could not understand, frozen on the spot as his thumb stroked my faceplate.

No, not acting.

This was no act, and that was what stunned me.

What advantages could he possibly gain from laying open like this?

The expression on his faceplate, it was so bare, so _painful_ to witness. I had never seen such peace on his person before, and I had thought, had assumed, that the mere notion of someone like Megatron wearing such a sentiment was laughable at best. What use was peace to a tyrant? What purpose did it serve for the leader of a faction meant to reap and destroy the world? My wings began to shake. I did not know what to do. With one single gesture, he has lost me, driven me to the verge of panic in face of an emotion that both resuscitated and terrified me.

A tiny movement.

On the corners of his lips.

Megatron, my leader, my tormentor, my _desire_…

He looked down at me.

And he _smiled_.

I froze, and my spark, an instance before a flaring ball of fire, drenched in an icy chill.

He smiled, and coolant rose in a wave, threatening to blur my vision further as _guilt_ pierced through the center of my being.

…_Why_?

The-The idiot—

Why was he _smiling_ at me?

I was to exploit his weaknesses, in every manner, just like how he did mine. I was to make him _pay_ for how much he had hurt me, so why? _Why_ was he smiling at me, as though I'd meant something, as though I was of value, of _worth_, as though he was—

…th-that he was—…

_Fear_.

It _stabbed_, and my optics blanked from its impact, its realization – the _excruciating_ realization – I had been pushing away since the cycle of my submission to this ground pounder.

Only one other mech I knew has ever smiled at me like this, and that was Skyfire.

Skyfire.

Oh Primus…I suppressed a tremour.

Skyfire.

…

Megatron was not aware of my thoughts. He continued to wipe me clean, the tips of his fingers careful. He was a completely different mech, compared to how I knew him. I could not imagine what, out of all that has happened since his arrival into the throne room, could have inspired such a change.

I did not believe it was anything I did.

It could not have been anything I did.

I had only played him, acting based on what I knew to be my advantage over him, so—…so—

_Why_?

I did not understand. Nothing made sense anymore. He was finished with me, done. He'd taken what he wanted from his willing, little whore, so there was no reason for him to continue to touch me, especially not so gently as though I was made of brittle panes of glass. He was not glaring at me or kicking me away. He was not threatening me, or throttling my neck. He was not bellowing with rage, optics bright like the Un-Maker's smelting pits. He was composed, comfortable, satiated, and yet this side of his spark terrified me more than even the most furious of his physical attacks on my person.

…Megatron...

He looked younger…like this.

His smile had lessened. It would not last long, but its effect lingered, like a mist hazy over his energy field.

He had not worn a smile for vorns. That much was obvious, from the awkward lift of his derma. I watched the emergence of a mech long ago lost, buried, extinguished, for the sake of making a stand. This mech…had no place in modern day Cybertron, no place in war…or on the features of an ironfisted dictator pit-bent on rebuilding our world from its ashes.

The first bubble of laughter sounded like a choking splutter. The second that followed was clearer and more pronounced. My wings jerked. My shoulders shook. His hand paused, and his expression froze, what was left of his smile fading as the first peal of giggles fell through my lips.

All of a sudden, I could not stop, laughing as though it was my only function. Knelt down before him, thighs soaked in the mixture of our fluids, I cackled, the jagged string of noise echoing in the chamber like glinting tips of spears. My abdominal plating ached. I wrapped an arm around it. My frame rattled in hilarity, and I wiped the last bit of drying transfluid from my optics, flicking it aside with a brisk flip of my wrist.

"What's wrong, mighty leader?" I needled, glancing up at him with a stretch of a grin. "Does every overload make a sentimental, old _fool_ out of you?"

His frame had seized. The smile was gone, replaced by a tight, rigid mask, one that barely contained the gathering storm behind his optics. My words had hit their target. The hard setting of his jaw-joints indicated so. However, despite my laughter, it gave me no satisfaction, only a damp, cool clench at the bottom of my spark chamber.

"Oh don't look at me like that, Megatron. I am flattered, really." I cooed, the turn of my glossa easy compared to the quivering knot in my spark. "What I suspected is true. You _do_ have a weakness for a pretty pair of wings." I licked my lips, lapping up his cold, tangy transfluid, and swallowed regardless of its disgusting texture. His hand jerked from my frame as though I burned, and it curled, tightening into a trembling fist.

"What's the matter, my lord?" I peered up at him, optics wide, voice a mocking purr. "Does my simple observation displease you?" I leaned forward, and rested a dainty hand on his thigh. "I can stop," I smiled, helm in a flirtatious tilt, "if it would make you _feel_ better."

The backhand came before I could even realize Megatron had moved. With a gritted roar, he swung his arm, and gave my faceplate a resounding slap. Pain lit up my sensor-net. It blistered like steam from the smelting pits. I yelped, falling back, but before I could end up on the floor, his other hand shot out, and yanked me forward by a wing. This time, he did not merely pinch. He crushed the thin metal completely, shattering the clusters of sensors.

With a loud, shrill cry, I reached back, and grappled at his fingers to free my wing. He paid no attention to my prying digits, and pulled me up, the same moment he pushed off from the console to stand. Scrambling onto my peds, I swore and bucked against him. He growled, rage darkening his features, and grabbed me by the neck cables before slamming me down against the terminal, optics narrowed slits of flaming red.

His hand tightened. His fingers dug into my neck. Warnings blared, flashing, red alerts on my HUD, and my vocalizer spat static, throbbing under the pressure. However, even with agony searing through my system, I was relieved. This was familiar. This was safe. Him glaring down at me from above, keeping me pinned against a hard surface, this was something I was used to. Therefore, no matter what punishment he had in mind, I was more than willing to take it. The injuries, the humiliation, they were a small price to pay if it meant I would not have to acknowledge the motivation behind his smile.

With a bitten snarl, he crumbled my wingtip. I screamed as the most acute of my flight sensors splintered, and started to thrash, stumbling through pleas for mercy. He bellowed, absolutely livid. However, though my pain-filled haze, his words lost their meaning, morphing into one roar of anger.

Megatron refused to let go of my shivering wing. He twisted on its injured tip, and I could barely gasp, intakes hitching in stutters. I made all sorts of promises I had no intention of keeping, all to stop him from ripping my wing off. I had no intention of reliving that experience, though I suspected that Megatron would not be so cruel, no matter how enraged, as to tear off what made me precious.

His hand left my neck cables, but I was allowed no relief. He pulled me by my wingtip, and flung me across the chamber, sending me hurtling through the air. I bounced hard on my back, and landed on my canopy. I slid against the floor, the glass of my cockpit screeching in protest, but I was simply thankful that my wing tip remained attached, despite the severed wires spitting sparks. Energon dripped, and splattered to the floor. I groaned, and shakily pushed myself onto my hands and knees, processors reeling to grasp sense of my surroundings through the void of hurt.

"I do not want to see or hear from you until notified otherwise, understood?" His voice was gruff, laced with loathing. "Leave, now, before I change my mind about letting you live."

I groaned, disorientation making me sluggish in following his order. He was not pleased with my lack of response. The only warning I got was the rising whirr of an activating weapons system right before a blast sailed over my helm, its heat singeing my derma. I yelped, wings jerking upright. The movement stung, and helped clear my processors as I scrambled onto my peds, limbs flailing in the process.

The slagger turned his _fusion cannon_ on me!

"I would hate to repeat myself, Starscream." The statement was little more than a low hiss through clenched dentae. I hazarded a glance toward him, and instantly regretted the decision. Primus, I have never seen him so furious. His scowl was feral, creasing in shadow, while his frame strummed with violence, primed to kill.

When I still failed to move, gaping and frozen by fright, his fists gave a warning clench. The fusion cannon let out another hum, and, with a squeak, I immediately pushed myself onto my thrusters, and ran for the exit. Slapping at the keypad to open, I all but fell into the hall. Megatron's optics kept burning holes into my frame until the doors slid closed behind me, and I was left alone in the hallway, spark reeling in lingering fear.

I could not believe Megatron had fired at me. With my own creation.

Frame trembling and knees threatening to buckle, I hastily comm.-ed Skywarp, and closed the panel to my valve. I did not even know what I had said to him, only that I stuttered like an idiot, which caused him great confusion before he finally understood what I wanted him to do. A klik later, he appeared in front of me with a puff of purple smoke. His expectant grin instantly wilted as he caught sight of me, joints tensing to stillness and wings hiking rigid on his back.

His optics widened. Shock stole the glow of energon from his faceplate. "…S-Star—" He whispered, but his sentence trailed off before it could even begin. His hands rose from his sides. He looked like he wanted to touch me. However, he stopped himself mid-reach, and took them back, fingers curling into palms. He looked me over, entire frame in a tremour, lips hanging apart. "Oh Primus—…!" He shook his helm, and his optics flew back to mine, a bright flash as he jolted out of his shock.

"Star," He said, ventilation loud, "it's-…it's okay. I'll get you to Pristinus. I'll get you to Pristinus right away, okay? …Oh _Primus_ on a—_Frag_! Your _wing_!" His expression fell, brow ridges knitting. "It's _dangling_—dangling on just—…A-Alright. Okay. It's gonna be fine. Okay. C'mon, Star. C'mon. Lemme—…Just lemme get you to the med bay, okay? Take my hand. Can you do that? Can you take my hand?"

He reached for me once again, and this time, his fingers brushed the side of my arm. I jumped, skidding back. I could not let him take me to Pristinus. No one else could know. Skywarp only saw me like this because I had no choice, but I'd be damned before anyone else sees me in such a disgraceful state. However, he must have interpreted my reaction wrong. I did not know what exactly went through his processors, but he suddenly became angry, gritting his dentae and biting his jaws. He cursed, hands in fists. He could not seem to look at me in the optics, staring instead at my cockpit.

"I…I'm sorry, Star." He whispered, "_Frag_…What did I _do_…?!" He swirled on his peds, and started to pace. He rubbed his faceplate, and swore, brow ridges dipped in a frown, lips in a grimace. I only stared, confused. Why was he being so difficult? I only wanted him to take me back to Vos.

"Ok, I'm sorry." He let out a gust of air through his vents, and seemed to gather himself before approaching me once again. He reached for my hands this time, forcing a wavering smile onto his faceplate. "C'mon, Star, it's okay. I promise. Just—…Lemme take you to Pristinus about your wing."

"No." I held my hands away. "You are going to take me back to my recharge chambers."

He paused, gaping at me. I grew irritated.

"What part of that did you not understand? Take me back to my recharge chambers at once!" My voice gained in volume. It sounded shrill, strained. "Hurry up! I want to get _clean_!" The transfluid was drying. They felt gross and uncomfortable. I was anxious for a long shower session in the comfort and privacy of my tower, but my trine mate, my purple idiot of a trine mate, just would not let me.

Skywarp's gaze softened, and this time, he did not protest. He did not speak at all, simply stepping forward and taking my hands. His fingers tightened around mine as he pulled me closer toward him. He held me, an arm around my back, and the air rippled. He was activating his warp-drive.

Our surroundings blackened, replaced by familiar walls in a burst of light. However, as our peds touched new floor, I realized with a startle that we had not gone to my recharge chambers as I wanted. Instead, several helms turned upon our arrival. Pairs of optics widened as they caught sight of us. Skywarp had defied my direct order. He had teleported us to the med bay in my tower. There were fliers, medics, standing around, each and every one of them staring at me, frozen from shock. There were too many, way too many stares. There was not even time for anger at my trine mate when my spark shuddered in dread, and my knee grew weak, the shiver in my frame gaining as my intakes hitched.

Primus…They would not _stop_. I averted my optics, and felt my dangling wing tip rattle as my wings began to shake. "Skywarp…get me out." My fingers tightened around my trine mate's. "Get me _out_." My hissed words were barely loud enough to reach my own audials, but I knew he heard, because his digits jolted within my grasp.

What was he waiting for? I bit my lips. What in the pits was he _waiting_ for?!

The optics of the medics burned into my plating. I knew exactly what they saw, and what they were all thinking as they processed it. They were not supposed to see. This was supposed to be a secret. I did not need a med bay, not until I've cleaned myself up, until all signs of my disgrace have been washed away. My wing hurt, and I'd lost energon, but my injury was not severe enough to be life-threatening. I could afford to wait at least a few breems.

Skywarp…good-willed, _stupid_ Skywarp…

He had shattered my pride much more than any other has ever done.

"Get me out of here." My intakes began to stutter. "Get me out of here!" I tugged on his hand. When he still refused to answer or budge, I almost whimpered, and curled inward, knee joints buckling.

"Get me out of here!" I begged him to take me away, and fell in a trembling heap when he failed to respond. A pair of arms caught me, and yanked me away from Skywarp, pressing me cheek-plate first against a rounded canopy atop a white chassis. It was warm, polished to an impeccable shimmer. I struggled to see who it was, but the mech did not yield, keeping me still and shielding me from all optics in the med bay. A voice rang out, clear and commanding. I recognized it, but I have never heard it so cutting, so strong.

"Everyone, _out_!" Pristinus shouted, and a flurry of footsteps headed toward the exit. "No, Skywarp, you're staying." The doors to the med bay slid closed, and I was left in the company of my trine mate and my head medic. "What happened?" I heard Pristinus ask, still holding me against him.

"Can't you guess?" Skywarp answered, voice low and rough. I could feel my medic becoming aggravated, chassis heaving up in an intake.

"I am not here to _guess_, Wing-Left Skywarp." Pristinus did not yell, but his words were clipped. "If you do not know, then answer me accordingly."

"Oh for frag's sakes, Pristinus!" My trine mate was not as successful at keeping his voice down. "Just take a look at 'im! He's more scratched up and dented than a combat drone. He's got transfluid and Megatron's paintjob all over him. What _else_ could have happened?! You fraggin' tell _me_!"

I flinched, and buried my faceplate against my medic's canopy.

"Stop shouting and answer the question." Pristinus was snappish, but he retained his cold professionalism despite the bite behind his words. "I _see_ the implications, but I will _not_ act based on them alone. Were you present when this happened?"

There was a pause.

"…Are you fragging _serious_?" Skywarp got even louder, tone heavy with incredulous rage. "Do you honestly think I'd slaggin' _stand around_ while my own trine leader gets _violated_?!"

"_Answer_ the _question_." Pristinus bit out. My trine mate hissed.

"No! I was not!" Skywarp bellowed. Explicit swearwords followed, accompanied by peevish pedfalls. Pristinus did not pay my furious trine mate further heed, turning to me instead. I felt his chin dip as one of his arms unraveled around my back, and he cupped his fingers around my faceplate, guiding my chin up.

My optics flickered upward. The familiar faceplate of my head medic came into view. He was worried, his kind demeanor marred by the smallest of frowns. "Prince Starscream," He spoke softly, just enough for me and my trine mate to hear. "Please tell me what happened." He asked, but did not probe, optics a gentle glow filled with concern.

Skywarp hit an abrupt stop in his pacing. I knew he was listening as well, waiting for my answer.

I gave none, staring at my medic.

Pristinus did not give up. He was patient, keeping his silence for a long moment before trying a different approach.

"You do not have to speak if you do not want to. You can simply nod or shake your helm. Would that be alright?" I looked at him, brow ridges knitting in a slight furrow.

His gaze softened, and he wrapped his other hand around my faceplate as well. "I apologize, your Highness, for being so pushy. But please, you must understand," He smiled, but it felt strained, different from the usual, easy tilt of his lips. "You are our Crown Prince." He said. "We must be sure if this meant going to war with another city."

My spark clenched. I did not want to go to war, not with Megatron. I gave a small nod, and he nodded back, before continuing in the same soothing voice:

"Did anyone deliberatively assault you?"

Behind me, Skywarp spluttered in expletives. However, Pristinus paid him no mind, optics kept to mine.

I nodded.

"Was it one mech?"

I nodded again.

"Did he attempt to interface with you?"

I hesitated.

I was the one who initiated, this time, but I knew Megatron had wanted me, so…

I gave another nod.

"Did the assault happen _before_ the attempted interface?"

In other words, did Megatron force me? No. I shook my helm.

Silence met my answer.

"…Did you…_consent_, to his attempted interface?" Pristinus worded his inquiry carefully, holding my gaze. I knew he was trying to discern whether I was truthful, but there was no need for him to second-guess me. I just wanted to get clean, and lying would only stall.

It took much strength of will to answer in honesty, but eventually, I gave him a nod.

"Did he penetrate you?"

Pristinus was an old flier, but even he could not stop his wings from tensing as he asked. This was understandable, of course. The integrity of the Crown was at stake, and that was of utmost importance, above all else.

I shook my helm, and a light sigh tickled my flight sensors as my medic's expression eased minutely.

"Did he assault you because you did not allow him to penetrate you?"

I shook my helm once again, and relief spread across the Stealth Jet's features.

"Very well," Pristinus nodded, and helped me to stand. "Please take a seat on the medical berth, Sire." He motioned to the berth behind him. "I will begin on all necessary repairs."

Skywarp began to protest, but neither Pristinus nor me paid him much attention. Though I would much prefer to go through a thorough wash cycle in my own shower chamber first, there was no way Pristinus would allow me to leave without reattaching my wing tip. Besides, getting repairs meant I would be cleaned, so I eagerly took a step toward the berth. However, before I could reach it, another concern flashed across my processors.

I stumbled to a halt, and looked at my medic, optics widened.

Pristinus searched my gaze for a moment. "Everything seen or heard in the med bay is strictly confidential, your Highness." He smiled, dipping his helm in promise. "My medics were surprised, yes, but they will not talk."

As reassured as I could be, I nodded, and allowed Pristinus to seat me on the medical berth. I felt the light, cool sensation of a medical scan gliding over my wing, followed by careful fingers, but I winced regardless, intakes in a hiss. Despite how gentle Pristinus was, the wound was still painful. Thankfully, my medic was quick to disable local sensory networks, and the agonizing burn disappeared, leaving me with only a slight, numb throb.

Skywarp hovered in my peripheral. He had settled down from his bout of protest. However, the tight set of his jaws did not lessen in the slightest, expression darkened by shadow. He was clearly displeased that both Pristinus and I had decided to drop the matter, at least for now. After pacing some more, my purple trine mate finally walked toward me, and I looked up, starting a little from the serious intent in his optics.

:_Starscream,_: He sent me a comm. through our trine link. To my surprise, he had Thundercracker blocked out. :_Do you honestly know what you're doing?_: He asked, stare penetrating, and my back-strut prickled.

:_…What are you talking about?_: Growing defensive, I averted my optics. However, to my greater astonishment, he did not get frustrated at my lack of cooperation.

:_It took me a while to understand, and I'm still not sure what in the pits exactly you're playing at, but I have a hunch my guess is not farfetched._: He sounded sure, too sure, and I had to bite back a flinch. :_I don't judge interface tendencies, and I really don't mind if you like him, but…_: I gave him a small glance, and grimaced when I saw him frown. :Seriously_, Star,_: His voice carried a note of imploration, :_You scared the living _spark_ out of me! Mind giving me a warning next time?_:

This time, I did flinch. Pristinus gave my still responsive wing a small tap to remind me to keep still, and I wiggled, shifting in my perch on the berth.

:_Actually, that's not what I wanted to say._: He sounded a bit sheepish, but I was too embarrassed to look at his faceplate to check. :_I mean, I'm really glad that you're not…you know…hurt or anything. I'm just…wondering if you really know what you're doing._:

I took great care to not allow my thoughts to show.

:_Things seem off somehow, with you._: He continued when I gave no indication of wanting to answer. :_The way you were acting when I saw you outside the throne room – that just didn't feel right._: He paused.:_Bots don't have that look right after they come out of a frag. I mean, you were—…_Primus_, you were a shaking _wreck_, Star._ _I might not be the smartest Seeker in Vos, but I've seen my share. I can tell something's up with you. You've…_changed_._: He stopped, waiting for me to respond.

:_I don't like him._: I stated, voice flat. :_Everything is entirely political. I have everything under control._:

I did not need to see his faceplate to know he was skeptical. His energy field radiated doubt, but, to his credit, he did not comment. He nodded. I could see him from the edges of my vision. Pristinus chose that moment to ask him to leave, seeing the gesture as a sign that our comm. conversation has ended.

Skywarp did not make his way to the door. He lingered, staring, but I kept my optics averted. After a while, he sighed, and turned around, taking a few steps away. He activated his warping sequence. However, kliks before his departure, he sent me one last comm.:

:_I'm not gonna tell TC about this, and I don't think you should either_: He said, not even bothering to face me. :_I don't know if he'll understand._: His helm inclined toward me, but before I could respond, he cut our connection, and teleported away. I was left staring at the spot he had been standing on mere moments before, wondering what he was talking about. As usual, he was too ineloquent to explain his point, and frankly, my processors were too scrambled and tired to deal with a confusing trine mate. Sighing, I sagged in my seat on the medical berth, and waited for my medic to finish my repair.

Upon Skywarp's leave, Pristinus asked me to lie on my back. After a heated argument, he managed to convince me to cancel all appointments for the rest of the cycle, and remain in the med bay to rest. Squirming on the berth, I tried to recharge, but all I could see as I offlined my optics was Megatron's smile freezing rigid before fading to a grimace. I could not help but feel as though I was missing something in his expression, but it eluded me, something I could not quite grasp.

Pristinus started cleaning my frame. He wiped the transfluid off with a cloth, methodical strokes of a medic who has seen everything one could in a lifetime. His touch was not consoling like Thundercracker's had been, but it got the job done. The damp, sticky mess was gone, yet somehow, my spark did not lighten, a prominent weight tangible at the bottom of my spark chamber.

My processors slowed. My intakes evened. My joints eased, and my awareness began to slip as my optics shuttered. Pristinus lowered the light. Darkness crept from the corners of the medbay. The last sensation I knew was the Stealth Jet moving to clean the insides of my thighs, but I was too exhausted to be embarrassed about the lubricant still staining them.

Within kliks, I fell into recharge, images of Megatron holding my faceplate darkening to nothing along with the world.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes:<strong> I tried. I really did, but still, this update came late. Sorry about that. D: I hope the content of this chapter made up for its lateness. About time there are some naughty scenes, eh?

I'm still not really sure how I feel about certain parts of this chapter. Having Megatron exhibit such a side to his character makes me nervous, and I can't figure out whether it's the thought of being so vulnerable that makes me uncomfortable or any possible OOC-ness. I tried to make him do something else, but it just didn't feel right, so I decided to go with my gut instinct. Hopefully, it hasn't failed me.

Many massive thanks to my reviewers _Guest_, _zantsu_, _Cjade_, _Ashcola17_, _Cannonade_, _A. Non_, _tiedwithribbons_, _Random523_, _VyxenSkye_, _loverofmythology_, _eadspud_, _alien90210_, _Kira michi_, _Koluno1986_, _Guest_, _theboombox_, _Cloud Kitsune17_, _ladyredvelvet_, _Devlinn Reiko_, _6MissSparklez9_, _The-writing-Mew_, _Trixxybaby1995_, _Eiswolf-Zero_, _AMNShadow_, _heretherebemonsters_, _Starcee138_, _Wooden-Horse_, and everyone who's supported me on Tumblr. Editing this chapter was difficult, as a lot of things happen, and hearing your words of encouragement has helped me tons, so thank you! :)

Now, I have an announcement to make:

Over the next two months or so, I will be going back to writing the first draft of "Insatiable". I really hope to finish it during this summer, so that all I'll have left to do for this story is editing, which means I can move on to writing other multi-chaptered works. Due to the fact that most of my time will be dedicated to writing, updates will be put on a temporary pause. If I find the time, I might put out a new chapter. However, I don't plan on posting anything until I am done with the first draft.

Everything is subject to change, of course. To keep tabs on what I'm up to, please visit my Tumblr, action-carolsfeld, and feel free to drop me any questions and/or concerns through an ask. Anon is enabled, so you don't have to sign-up to talk to me.

Thanks once again for giving this story a chance! If you have the time, a review would be lovely, as it never fails to bring a smile to my face.

Has this chapter changed any of your outlooks on Starscream? Did the naughty get you worked up? Hopefully? Haha! What did you think of the slight break in character for Megatron? Please let me know.

I would love to hear from you. :)


	22. XXII, XXIII

Disclaimer: Do not own Transformers. D':

I can only hope there aren't any stupid typos or awkward sentences I've missed. Please excuse them if there are any!

* * *

><p>XXII<p>

Sunstorm was sitting alone, far from the other sparklings. He hugged his toy close to his tiny body, and his wings shivered whenever the other young fliers made loud squeals or laughter of delight. I could not see his faceplate from this angle. I could not guess what expression he wore, slouched and curled up in the corner of the play chamber.

I've been informed that upon discovery and retrieval from battle site, the Seekerlet had been immediately placed in the sparkling ward at a tower specifically vacated for those injured in battle. He did not have many wounds, and what few there were had already been repaired by one of the best medics in Vos. I did not have time to visit him until now, which I regretted could not be sooner. Sunstorm obviously sustained injuries beyond even the abilities of Pristinus, hence why I really should have paid more attention to him, since his carrier creator played no little part in keeping me alive during battle.

None of the other sparklings seemed to have taken the loss of their creators as badly as Sunstorm. Given the situation, this was understandable. I was told by their primary caretaker that many of them still had other family members who were willing to establish surrogate bonds, or at least adopters who were interested in building a relationship with them. Sunstorm, on the other wing, did not seem to have anyone. No flier had come forth to claim him, and for him to not have any surviving family at all was very unlikely. To locate the other sparks in his code-unit was merely a comm. away, through the Vosian populace databanks. However, the idea of leaving the Seekerling with those who did not want him…

That left a tinge of bitterness on my glossa.

"Has no one offered to adopt Sunstorm at all?" I asked the ward nurse assigned to accompany me, optics staying on the hunched form of the tiny Seeker. I could see the caretaker, a white and lavender Fighter Jet by the designation of Cloudblast, in my peripheral. He pressed his lips together in a brief pause.

"…I'm afraid not, your Highness," He looked troubled, brow ridges in a light frown. "There's very little reason for Sunstorm to encounter such disregard from adopters. He's healthy, and despite having suffered malnutrition, his status meets all the growth quotas. His spark has expanded to further support his frame, and his flight system is ready for advanced upgrades. He is very intelligent as well. He's shown extraordinary processing abilities in our tests. He has an incredibly promising future ahead of him, but no one seems to see that."

"You said 'there is very _little_ reason'." I turned my helm, and looked at the Fighter Jet, "Does that mean there _is_, in fact, something that's putting fliers off?"

"Well…" Cloudblast's frown deepened, "There _have_ been expressed concerns from both caretakers and medics that Sunstorm simply might not be able to recover from trauma of this caliber. Other sparklings have shown similar symptoms, but, thus far, Sunstorm has made the least progress, if any at all." The Fighter bit his lips, and glanced at the Seekerlet. "He seems to be hit the hardest." He murmured, averting his optics to mine. Of course he was. I sighed through my vents, and crossed my arms before returning to my careful watch of the orange sparkling.

Sunstorm was shoved aside by his carrier during a moment of crisis, and later on had to witness said creator's gruesome deactivation. Sunrift's helm had been smashed to pieces under the ped of a ground pounder. Who knew what could be going through the Seekerling's processors, having to live on after seeing such horror?

"It doesn't take medical training to see that Sunstorm is different from the other sparklings, Sire. The adopters hesitate to take up such a mantle during a time of war." Cloudblast explained. "Family units are already taking on a challenge by adopting a sparkling. There are limits to how much care they can give."

"What will happen to him if no one takes him?" I asked.

"He will have to go through rotations at all caretakers' homes until he finishes his schooling." The Fighter Jet answered. "I truly hope he finds someone soon. He needs a stable environment to feel safe in, to heal, which…will be greatly compromised if he is to move on a frequent basis."

I nodded to Cloudblast's words, optics catching every little jerk in Sunstorm's frame. His tiny wings flicked, telling spades of fear and agitation, and he curled further around the toy, holding it close as though it was the only anchor he had left.

Another sparkling, a Striker, seemed to have taken a sudden interest in the Seekerlet. He hopped over, wobbling on his thrusters, and peered with his helm tilted, optics curious. He approached Sunstorm, giving him a nudge on the wing-nubs. Sunstorm shivered. He did not respond, only scooting further into his corner and turning his back to his visitor.

The Striker stood still, simply watching.

With a flash of his optics, he leapt forward, and tackled Sunstorm to the floor, tugging the Seekerling out of his refuge.

My intakes hitched. My right ped scraped a step forward. The Striker wrestled Sunstorm for the toy, persistent, and Sunstorm squirmed under the larger sparkling, mouth wide open in what I could only imagine were loud, shrill cries of protest.

I could not hear the scuffle. A pane of soundproof glass separated me from the sparkling ward. However, I knew they must have been making a ruckus, as all the other sparklings had frozen to stillness, staring at the two with widened optics.

The Striker was obviously stronger than Sunstorm. He ripped the toy out of the Seekerling's hands with a yank that stumbled the smaller flier forward. As the Striker bounded away with his new prize, Sunstorm watched, sprawled on the floor and lips in a gape. Fat drops of coolant tears gushed from his optics, and he stretched his thin, little arms after the Striker, as though just the act of reaching could bring back his toy.

He did not move from his spot.

His frame trembled, shoulders jolting in sobs silent to my audials.

A nurse came into view. He picked up the Striker, and seemed to chide the sparkling, a frown on his faceplate and index finger waving. The Striker, however, did not look apologetic at all, oblivious to why he was scolded. Shaking his helm, the caretaker took the toy, and set the sparkling down in front of a box with many other toys before walking toward Sunstorm, who was still lying on the floor, crying. The supervisor picked the Seekerlet up, and cradled him close to his chassis, offering back the toy, which Sunstorm immediately yanked close to his tiny canopy. Coolant still spilled from the Seekerling's optics, but he was no longer crying aloud, lips falling closed as he settled to sniffles instead, wing-nubs pointed down.

My lips pursed, brow ridges furrowing.

If this was what Sunstorm had to put up with on a cycle-to-cycle basis, no wonder he kept to himself.

Cloudblast seemed to have noticed my great displeasure, and spoke up in haste to soothe my frown:

"We try not to come between sparkling interactions unless absolutely necessary, your Majesty." He said, "The sparklings need to learn that they cannot depend on the caretakers to sort all conflicts out for them."

I heaved an ex-vent, but nodded. This made sense, especially so during war. Laser fire knew no distinction from soldier to sparkling. Dependence would only become liability. I knew this. However, that did not make the soreness churn any less inside my spark chamber.

The door to our right beeped, and slid open. Cloudblast turned, and made a small bow, but I did not look away from Sunstorm, who was still nestled within his caretaker's arms. The Seekerling had stopped shivering, and was now staring down at his toy. His optics were still wet, though coolant had stopped flowing down his cheeks in streams.

"Nightfire reporting, your Highness. All hail Prince Starscream." A familiar voice reached my audials, and I finally took my attention away from Sunstorm. The smiling faceplate of my scientific advisor came into view, and I felt a little of my tension drain away at the sight. I returned his smile, and nodded in acknowledgement.

"Rise, Nightfire," I uncrossed my arms, and let them dangle before turning to face the Space Shuttle. "What news have you brought me?"

Nightfire took out a data pad from subspace. Cloudblast looked at me in question, and I dismissed him with a wave of my hand. He bowed, backing out of the room. The door hissed closed behind him just as my advisor activated a hologram of his report, tapping a few buttons for it to expand for better viewing.

"There are a number of things for me to bring up to your attention, Sire. Should I proceed by importance?"

"Whatever you want," I answered.

"Affirmative," Nightfire nodded, and opened one of the files. "First report of the cycle regards to Decepticon Blitzwing, your Highness. I have enrolled him into an introductory flight course for sparklings at a nearby sparkling care center. Attending lessons with other fliers who have never flown before seems to help, your Majesty, so the results have been mostly positive. He's been making a lot progress in overcoming his fear of height. He is also growing more confident in his skills. His instructor has informed me that he is certain Blitzwing will be able to transfer to a youngling class very soon."

I bit back a chortle upon the mental image of the triple changer in class with a group of tiny, chirpy fliers, and waved at the Space Shuttle to continue.

Nightfire muffled a smile, and moved on to the next file.

"The Autobot weapons we'd retrieved from battle sites are still undergoing further study. So far, units assigned to the task have been able to dissect the cannons, though their inner-workings remain mostly unknown." The Space Shuttle scrolled down along his report. "However, unit leaders have assured me that results will be forthcoming soon. The prospect of counter-weaponry is likely. If not, protective armour for our troops at the very least can be done."

"Adding more weight to our soldiers? I think not." I shook my helm. "An attachment device would be better, maybe one that produces a force field."

"A constant force field that shields a flier at top speed, Sire?" Nightfire sounded skeptical despite his respectful tone.

"If they cannot make such a thing, see to it that they consult with the generals to develop new maneuvers to avoid hits."

"Affirmative, your Highness." Nightfire opened another application, and entered my instructions before carrying on to the next topic.

"The reconstruction of the labyrinth is in heavy progress." He continued, drawing out a three-dimensional diagram of the construction site. "Due to a previous shortage of materials, it is a little behind schedule. The factories went through a temporary shutdown after the battle, but the workers have returned to their stations, and, based on approximate calculations, we should catch up to the initial plan within the next three cycles."

"The outer wall is finished?" I walked a bit closer to study the image.

"Affirmative," Nightfire tapped the data pad, and the hologram zoomed in for a more detailed view. "The outer shell has been completed, though the inner sections will take longer to redo. I've been thinking about new floor plans and more complicated schematics for the maze, Sire. I would like to hear your suggestion." Nightfire opened another application, and gave me a short presentation on his ideas. I looked over them, asking questions whenever I felt the need, and went over my various concerns with the Space Shuttle.

"I see no improvement done on the sewage system," I scanned the hologram models. "I would've thought that securing the sewers would be top priority since that's how the Autobots managed to break our defense in the first place."

"I'm afraid there is very little that can be done about our water drainage, your Highness." Nightfire bowed his helm in apology. When he straightened, however, there was a bright glint in his optics, one that accompanied the smile spreading on his lips. "Although…" His wings perked, "I _have_ come up with an idea that would theoretically decrease pipe usage to bare minimum."

That piqued my interest. Nightfire only had that specific look whenever he was up to something ambitious. "Go on." I prompted him, leaning further with my processors keen.

"It's actually very simple, your Lordship," Nightfire turned all of the holograms off before opening another, one that showed a model of Vos. "All we need to avoid, really, is acid rain pooling in our foundations. If we are to build a large dome over our city, starting from the outermost edge of the labyrinth…" He hit a button on the data pad, and a curved canopy draped over the model of Vos.

My optics widened.

"A…_force field_?" I asked, voice hushed. Nightfire nodded. My optics stretched wider. "You want to build a _curved_ force field, spanning over our _entire_ city, _without_ any physical sphere for it to attach to?" The Space Shuttle nodded once again, and I turned toward him, vision agape and wings angled high. "By Primus, Nightfire," I exclaimed, "you're brilliant!"

Nightfire smiled, and bowed his helm. "You are too kind, Sire." He said, "Many would call me mad."

I laughed.

"Madness and creativity are wing-to-wing, my Space Shuttle friend. They'd once designated Eisodos a mad spark when he'd proposed the Helix Gardens of Praxus." I beamed at him before looking over the model, wings flicking in giddiness. "Have you spoken to the engineering units about this?"

"Not yet, your Majesty." Nightfire explained, "I thought I should make more designs first before consultations. I'm afraid such a project will take vorns to complete. The amount of energon required to power a force field generator at such size will be astronomical unless we find a way to bypass that problem, perhaps an alternative source of energy. I'm sorry to say that before that complication is solved, we will need to settle for the pipes again if acid rain comes."

"We'll deal with what we have for now." I nodded, optics still glued on the hologram. "Proper protection is never too late. I grant you full clearance on this project. Take as long as you need, and report to me on your progress."

"Affirmative, Sire." Nightfire dipped his helm.

"And make sure _Megatron_ does not find out about this," I waved at the hologram with a hand. "This is a Vosian matter. It has nothing to do with him."

"Affirmative, Prince Starscream."

"Good," I nodded once more, and straightened from leaning toward the model of Vos and the dome. "Do you have any other matters to report?"

"Negative, Sire," Nightfire replied as he deactivated the holograms and subspaced his data pad, "Though…I do have an inquiry."

"Yes?"

"I am…_curious_, as to why you are _here_, your Highness." The Space Shuttle glanced behind the glass, at the sparklings, with a small look of confusion. "I am glad you are taking time to check on your citizens, but I'm afraid I don't understand why you wanted me to come _here_, specifically, to meet you."

I held his gaze, then looked to the glass as well, arms crossing behind my back. "You see that Seekerling with the orange paintjob?" I approached the viewing window, and jerked my chin toward Sunstorm, who had returned to his corner after the caretaker left. "His carrier creator died to save me."

"Primus bless his spark," Nightfire murmured.

"Indeed," I replied, tone dry, "That's why I came here, to see how he's doing after all this time, which is…" I frowned, "Not _well_, judging from what I've heard from his caretakers."

"Losing one's creators so young is devastating for any flier, Sire." The Space Shuttle walked to stand beside me, though he stopped one wingtip behind. "Forgive my impudence for fabricating assumption, your Majesty," He turned, and cast me a bewildered gaze, "But I feel as though there is another purpose for my attendance here."

"You are forgiven." I kept my vision on Sunstorm instead of meeting my Science Advisor's optics. "I am…Well," My brow ridges furrowed, and I glanced down. "…I'm contemplating on adopting him, Nightfire."

For a long moment, Nightfire did not make a sound.

"…Your Highness…?"

The two whispered words carried the full weight of his breathless shock.

"No flier seems to want to take him." I explained, unraveling my arms from behind me and crossing them over my chassis. "He needs a safe place to stay, a stable environment, which he cannot have unless someone adopts him." I watched the sparkling, still huddled in the corner. "I know the happenings in my tower are often chaotic, but there is no safer place in Vos. He will _not_ be my heir, but he _will_ be taken good care of."

I ran a cycle of air through my vents.

"The best schooling our city can offer will be available to him. Once he reaches maturity, he will train as a soldier." I studied his frame, his wings, and calculated what he had the potential to become. "He will be strong, Nightfire, and he will serve me well." My resolve hardened. My wings tensed on my back. "…Just as his carrier had once done." I added, digits tight around the plating of my arms.

Nightfire did not reply at first. He was silent, and his lack of response agitated me. I sent him small glances, but he did not seem to notice, brow ridges knitted and lips pursed. Finally, he snapped out of his thoughts, optics brightening and turning to address me.

"Star," His lack of a title alerted me that he was serious. "You know I have no authority to judge your decision, and you don't sound like you're looking to hear any suggestions I might have on Sunstorm's situation, so I'm curious as to what you really want from me." He paused, as though hesitating to voice a question, which he appeared to forgo. "Perhaps it'd be better for you to speak to your trine mates." He said instead, "After all, the arrival of a sparkling in a trine is big news."

That was not what I wanted.

"I don't _need_ to speak to them to know that they won't object." I almost let out a snort at the thought. "Thundercracker is much too soft-sparked to reject a sparkling, and Skywarp will just be happy he's going to have a fresh mind to corrupt with his idiotic ways." I huffed through my vents, and tried to portray a front of confidence, despite my brief, worried looks toward the Space Shuttle. "I called you here because I want you to be frank with me. Do you…" My optics averted to the glass, "…Do you think I can be a good surrogate-creator? For him?"

Nightfire was still as he contemplated my question. I knew he was staring at me. I could feel his gaze burning into my plating. I avoided meeting that gaze, despite the curiosity gnawing at my spark to see what expression he wore. He was probably surprised, since I'd never expressed having exceptional fondness toward sparklings.

"…You won't be able to do any actual caring, Star." For some reasons, he sounded a little amused. I sent him a glare, which made him chuckle. "I didn't mean to offend you, and I apologize if I have." He gave his helm a minute bow. "Your intentions are good. You are going well beyond your duties to ensure the happiness of your citizens. However, you can't turn a blind optic to the inevitability of neglecting Sunstorm even if he were to reside in the Royal Tower as your adopted." His words were gentle, but their content was blunt. "You will need to spend time with him to properly build a surrogate-creator bond, time you do not currently have."

"I can bring him with me to some of my meetings if I can't find free time." I protested, more than a little annoyed toward his efforts at discouraging me.

"That's not what 'time with him' means, Star." As always, Nightfire was right, which only aggravated me further. "The flier who will spend the most time with him will be whomever you assign to be his caretaker while you're overseeing the war and our city." The Space Shuttle paused, and I startled when I felt his hand land on my shoulder. "I'm very surprised that you'd want to adopt an orphaned sparkling." I turned, and Nightfire's faceplate came into view, kind and curious. "Speaking of which, when did you start having the idea?"

"Recently," I grumbled, feeling a little embarrassed. "I don't like what I hear about what's happening to him, so I thought I should do something."

"Would you like alternatives aside from adopting him yourself?" My Science Advisor pushed, testing his boundaries.

I kept his inquiring gaze, but stayed silent, pressing my lips tightly together.

"…You've already made your decision then, haven't you."

It wasn't a question, so I did not answer.

Nightfire's optics dimmed a little. "To be honest, I'm still not sure what you want me to say."

An uncomfortable silence settled around us. His hand felt heavy on my shoulder, but I did not move to push it away. I knew he only wanted to help, which was why he was disregarding rank and being straightforward with me with his concerns. However, what he did not know was that I was not sure myself why I decided to consult with him, for this matter in particular, especially since I had already made my choice.

Somehow, having the Space Shuttle here, having his approval, was very important to me.

"I just want you to tell me one thing," I turned to fully face him with no small amount of sheer will. "Do you think I can be a good surrogate-creator?"

Nightfire had another lengthy pause. I tried my best to not fidget, and waited with utmost impatience. He was watching me, studying my faceplate, though he looked vacant and pensive at the same time. When he finally answered, it was with another question:

"Would my opinion change your decision, Sire?"

I did not give any outward reaction, but the sudden reintroduction of title took me back. The way Nightfire spoke made my spark seize in a flinch. He appeared to have realized something that I haven't, and that made me uncomfortable.

"No," I answered truthfully only because there was no point to lie. "But it would reassure me."

The Space Shuttle held my gaze for several kliks before taking a deep sigh through his intakes. His hand left my shoulder, and hung by his side as he turned his optics to Sunstorm, brow ridges furrowing in thought. When his attention returned to me, he offered a smile, though it looked to be more pointless than pleased. "There is nothing for me to base my judgment on, your Highness." He bowed his helm, the gesture souring my spark in disappointment. "I am not qualified to answer your question, being an unbonded flier myself."

His answer was just as disappointing. I wanted to scowl in frustration, but what he continued to say was more of what I'd wanted to hear:

"However," He seemed to deliberate on how to word his response, "By stubbornness alone, I have a hunch you will find a way to be a good adopter for the Seekerling." He smiled, the expression this time more sincere. While his reasoning in his faith toward me was rather displeasing, his reply was satisfying enough, so I merely scrunched my nose bridge, and let it go.

I held the Space Shuttle's optics, and gave him a small nod before casting my gaze back to Sunstorm. The sparkling had fallen into recharge, curled up in his corner. He was still hugging his toy close to his chassis, helm drooped to the side as he leaned against the wall.

I would have to remember to take that toy with me when I take Sunstorm into my tower. He seemed oddly attached to it.

Going through the appropriate procedures took much longer than I expected, but eventually, Sunstorm became mine. He still had to go through various tests before he was cleared for moving into my tower, so I chose that time to inform my trine mates of the new development in my life.

As it turned out, my trine mates did not take the news as well as I'd anticipated.

For once, Skywarp was the less troubling of the two, simply mumbling about not wanting to sparkling-sit as he lounged on his recharge berth in my trine's common quarters.

"I _know_ you're gonna make me watch 'im. Some slag about me not having anything important to do," My purple trine mate stuck out his bottom lip as though I'd already commanded that he do it. "And for _your_ information, I have _plenty_ of important things to do!"

Ignoring his idiocy, I turned to Thundercracker, hoping for support, but all I found instead was a stormy frown.

"Star, don't take my words the wrong way, but…you're not in a position to adopt." My blue trine mate did not back down even when my wings stiffened. "I understand your intention of repaying Sunstorm's carrier by taking his sparkling under your wings, but you really don't need any more responsibilities on top of what Vos and your Decepticon rank already demand. Your time is more precious than ever, and time is what you must have if you want to become a surrogate-creator for Sunstorm. Seeker sparklings are easily the neediest. Just think about what it was like for you."

I tensed.

"You must remember how you'd wished you could spend more time with your creators during sparklinghood." Thundercracker continued to say. "From what Cloudblast told you, Sunstorm obviously has even more needs than the average Seekerling." He continued, despite the obvious signs I knew he could see telling of my displeasure at his words. "I just don't think you can handle more stress at the moment." He simply would not _shut up_. "Of course I'll be able to help you, and so will 'Warp, despite what he says. However, there is something very important you're overlooking."

My blue trine mate paused.

He seemed to debate whether or not to speak out his concern.

I really hoped he hadn't. However, the ever polite Thundercracker chose, in that moment, to toss his most prized _reason_ out to the wind in an uncharacteristic indulgence of impulse.

"To be completely frank with you, Starcream, sparklings need two creators." He said, "And you don't even have a prospect candidate for an intended bondmate."

I froze, intakes hitting a full stop as my spark chamber frosted with ice.

Silence.

It hung in the chamber.

Until the edges of my optics stung and my wing joints ached from the high arc of my wings.

"…_Whoa_!" Skywarp exclaimed, gaping at the blue Seeker. "_Whoa_, TC! Stop right there!" He pushed up from his berth. "What in the pits are you doing?!" He hissed, and glanced at me as though afraid of what I would do. "You _know_ we can't talk about that!"

"I-…I know," Thundercracker winced, looking like he had something distasteful in his mouth. "But I can't hold back this time, not when we're talking about taking a sparkling into our trine."

"Yeah, but…" The teleporter grimaced. "Couldn't you've said somethin' else?" He kept glancing at me, wary. "You just dabbled your nosecone into _both_ of _those things_ we don't _ever_—"

"-I won't trouble you with sparkling duties if that's what you're worried about." I spat out, standing from Thundercracker's berth to sit on Skywarp's. "To be completely frank with _you_, I fail to see where you have any say in this matter at all, Thundercracker." I sneered, and glared at my Diplomatic Advisor.

"This is a trine matter, Star. I think I have much say in this, just as Skywarp does." My blue trine mate sent me an imploring gaze. It held an edge of hurt toward my abrupt leave from his side, but I was too chafed by what he had said to care about that much.

"I'm adopting Sunstorm as the Crown Prince of Vos, not as your trine leader." I bit out, optics narrowing.

"Oh _please_ don't start that again, Starscream." Thundercracker grimaced, and turned his faceplate away.

"I already made my decision." I ignored his antics. "I am not here to ask for your opinions. I am here to inform you of what's going to happen."

Thundercracker's faceplate snapped back toward me. He stared, brow ridges knitted, for a long, silent while. "Why do you do this every time we try to communicate as a trine?" He shook his helm as though he could not comprehend my behaviour. "The Crown Prince of Vos and my trine leader is the same Seeker. I see no distinction." He insisted.

"Which is _why_ you attempts at communicating with me continues to _fail_. You never treat me accordingly." I crossed my arms, and Thundercracker sent out a frustrated cycle of air through his vents.

"For Primus's sakes, Star! You still want me to 'your Majesty' you even in our common quarters?" My blue trine mate was becoming frazzled, which was odd for one usually calm and collected. However, I hardly cared about that triviality at that moment.

"You forget, Thundercracker, that I don't actually recharge here." I replied with equal fervor, tone pointed and edged. "I see two berths, not three. My chamber lies above yours, which should be more than enough clue for you of our proper hierarchical positions."

"How can you even _say_ something like that? Do you not hear yourself _talk_?" Thundercracker leaned back, helm in a slow, exasperated shake. "This attitude is exactly why our trine never gets along as well as others'!" His brow ridges dipped further, optics holding a hurt, helpless gaze. "We can barely talk about anything of importance without you pulling rank on us, and every time you do anything that consequentially involves our trine, you never actually ask for our opinions at all. Did the thought of asking us how we feel about suddenly having a sparkling in our trine cross your mind at all? Have you ever thought that maybe—"

"-_Hey!_ Wanna know what happened the other cycle?!" Skywarp hopped up from his berth, and gestured dramatically, optics wide. "Soundwave's runts and I pranked this bot, painted 'im pink while he was recharging and glued 'im to the ceiling in the mess hall! It was the funniest slag ever! But by Unicron was he _mad_. Megatron made us get him down afterwards. I only got away from gettin' my aft kicked 'cause I could teleport, but I dunno about Rumble and Frenzy…"

Skywarp's interruption stopped the brewing argument between Thundercracker and I. My purple trine mate continued to chatter, his forced excitement and enthusiastic prattle almost sickening to watch. I scowled, and turned away, but not before giving my blue trine mate a hard glare. He looked back with his lips pursed, and did not speak.

The rest of the cycle passed with meetings with various advisors. By the time night cycle arrived, I was exhausted, and very much looking forward to a lengthy recharge. After running a brief shower, I climbed into my berth, and flopped down on my canopy. My systems were in preparation for shut down, until an insistent ping popped up from my comm..

:_What?_: I answered the request, drowsy and annoyed.

:_Soundwave to Commander Starscream – Please acknowledge._: Soundwave's voice rang in my audials. Its tone was so flat and boring that I almost dropped into recharge immediately.

:_Acknowledged._: I mumbled, sinking deeper into my berth. :_What do you want?_:

:_Purpose of contact – notification on next meeting of Decepticon high command. Time scheduled – fifteenth joor, one upcoming mega-cycle. Location – Kaon, Decepticon main base, section two-A, chamber three-dash-one-zero. Coordinates to follow. Topic – military strategies. Target – Autobot city Tarn. Specifics – invasion of energon crystal storage facilities. Recommended course of action – prepare aerial combat plans._:

:_I don't need _you_ telling me what I should do, Soundwave._: I scowled. :_Why isn't Lord Rust Bucket contacting me himself? He's always comm.-ed me personally before._:

:_Soundwave – Communications Officer. Lord Megatron – Supreme Commander of Decepticons._:

Great, another kiss-aft in the Decepticon army. I sent a short huff through my vents, and buried my faceplate into my berth.

:_Acknowledged. I'll be there with my trine mates and generals._:

:_Affirmative._: Soundwave paused, and I reasoned he must have been logging the information into a terminal. :_Inquiry – confirmation of attendance one cycle prior to meeting?_:

:_No,_: I snarled into my berth, :_I don't need _reminders_, Soundwave._:

:_Affirmative. Termination of contact – commence._:

I cut our line before his voice even faded. I was in no mood to play nice with the mech who'd rubbed his disgusting hands all over my wings in pretense of painting sigils. Settling into a more comfortable position, I took a deep cycle of air through my intakes, and waited for my recharge protocols to kick in. As my systems slipped into resting mode, thoughts of the upcoming meeting surfaced in my processors.

I had not seen Megatron since the incident in his throne room, and he has yet initiated any contact with me. Sometimes I would access the comm. frequencies I have stored in my data banks just to entertain the idea of sending him a ping to taunt him. I never did such a thing, of course. The consequences would be undoubtedly unpleasant. In all honesty, I did not expect him to stop keeping track of me for such an extended period of time, but he, once again, proved just how unpredictable he could be.

My ventilation slowed. Memory files bubbled at random before sinking back into the inky black depth of my sub-level hard-drive. There were better times to muse about that rusty ground pounder. Peaceful recharge was rare during times of war. With much effort, I managed to silence my wandering thoughts. My systems powered down one by one, and my awareness of the world waned.

Despite how we parted, I was glad that I was going to see him again.

* * *

><p>XXIII<p>

:_Do _not_ attack the city. I repeat, do _not_ attack the city!_:

I cursed as a missile almost hit me in the right wing, and swerved in the air, making sharp, fast turns to avoid the thick web of cannon fire shooting at me from below. With a series of flips and rolls, I managed to escape the onslaught of blasts unscathed, finally allowed a brief reprieve to survey the battle below me.

Everything was engulfed by flames and explosions. The rising heat was a blistering bake against the belly of my alt-mode, almost flaking the paint. My frame has sustained several scorch marks, close calls with Autobot anti-flight weapons. My right wing had been clipped by a lucky shot from a mech who was no longer with the living. I had no idea where Megatron was. The noise was too deafening for me to pick out his battle cries. I could see my Fighter Jets in the distance, in formation, raining bombs from above. I wondered if Bladeflight was with them. He would be able to help me pass on my instructions.

I had lost all contact with my generals and trine mates several breems ago. My comm.-system had been flickering on and off ever since a blunt hit in the helm I'd received earlier during the battle. It seemed to have completely given out, and I was left flying alone, circling the outskirts. :_Bladeflight, Ramjet, do you copy? Thundercracker? Skywarp?_: I tried once again in vain, pinging everyone I could think of. :_If any of you receive, forward my order to all fliers currently in combat – refrain from attacking the city. I repeat, no Vosian military personnel is to attack the city center of Tarn!_:

City center was not our objective. However, there was already a significant amount of damage from what I could see on the buildings on its outer edge. War knew no boundaries. It spread like energon through coolant. Even though Megatron had no interest in taking the city, his subordinates, or mine, would understandably make it their target if Autobot snipers were stationed there.

I contemplated flying to my Fighter Jets, but my presence would only interfere with their battle plan, resulting in unnecessary casualties. Hissing in curses, I changed my flight path, narrowly avoiding a large cluster of Autobots, and shot off to where I knew the Decepticons had already secured before my comm. spluttered out.

This mission was proving to be much more difficult than all previous times we'd engaged the Autobots. Not only was there a large number of enemy soldiers stationed at the storage facilities, there was also a lot of little crooks and crevices for them to hide in from air attacks. Of course, all of these factors had already been taken into consideration during lengthy strategic meetings with the Decepticon high command. However, theories and simulations could only predict so far. Reality had a nasty habit of giving malicious surprises.

Overtaking all surrounding outskirts of a big city like Tarn was a feat to accomplish to begin with, much less during night cycle and attacking from all sides. The idea was simple: surround the place, kill the Autobots, and take the energon crystals. The tactics employed were many and quite ingenious. Our calculated probability of winning was exceptionally high for invading a wide spread of land. As far as I knew, Bladeflight followed the plan down to the last wingtip, and Ramjet was doing admirably in holding back from dangerous improvisation. Fliers were not the front-liners of this battle. Our main job was large-scale damage while covering the ground troops.

Everything began well, but not well enough. We hit the Autobots fast and hard, but their reaction was shocking in its effective swiftness that belied their semi-comatose while stationed at the docks. The dullness of every-cycle patrol did not make them lethargic as I had expected. It made them even more battle-hungry and eager, though I suspected revenge also fueled their lust for spilling energon on this night.

I was slightly worried whether or not Megatron brought enough mechs. I hesitated to call them soldiers, because they weren't, at least not yet. I was amazed that the Decepticons has managed to succeed this far. While they were tough, ruthless, they were still somewhat disorganized, not to mention their unfortunate tendency to antagonize each other at inconvenient times.

A laser shot sailed past my left wing tip. It almost seared my flight sensor. I swore, veering to the side with a screech of my engines. I had no warning before it came, and, even now, I could not tell where exactly it came from. Damned buildings and their flickering shadows, they camouflaged a lot of small Autobot groups. More laser blasts fired toward me, and I was forced into a wide arc to reach the Decepticon stronghold. To retreat from a fight was irritating, but I'd rather not get any more wounded than I already was.

Due to the minor injury on my wing, I could not reach full speed. Even the smallest unbalance could be fatal if one was not careful, and I had no death wish. The scalding heat from the raging fire below smacked against the cold air from Cybertron's thin atmosphere. Their collision created surging winds, odd, turbulent currents with whims of their own. They were a nuisance, which hardly helped my sour mood. They were the reason I lost my trine mates in the first place, when I had stumbled in the air upon receiving a hit on my wing.

I was supposed to rendezvous with Thundercracker and Skywarp at prearranged coordinates at a specific time. However, due to my stumble, I was late. By the time I'd reached the designated meeting spot, my trine mates were no longer there, which was understandable. There was no wait during battle. They would carry on with their respective objectives without me.

Of course my lack of a functioning Comm.-system was also why I could not find them. However, if I could locate Megatron or Soundwave, I would be able to forward my instruction to my fliers.

Megatron would not like my decision of not attacking the city, especially if it might compromise taking out Autobot snipers, but he never said we were going to claim Tarn under Decepticon rule.

Our main goal was securing the energon crystals, and, according to Soundwave, a large shipment of the raw material arrived during third shift of the cycle. Based on approximation, the amount of refined energon one could convert from the crystals currently stored at the outskirts was enough to feed all Vosian citizens for two vorns. This was treasure beyond any miracle since the beginning of Cyberbtron's energon depletion crisis. If the Decepticons could claim this, not only would they attain more wealth than they could have ever imagined, but also tip the war even more in their favour.

No wonder the Autobots were fighting with such desperation.

Avoiding more gunfire, I approached the Decepticon stronghold, and began to descend. Already mechs were loading hovercrafts with crates of energon crystals. They barely looked up when I passed them overhead, now used to the presence of fliers, and my Seeker pride almost balked at such treatment. Huffing with annoyance, I transformed in mid-air, and touched down on the ground.

The place was bustling with activity. Weapons were distributed. More Decepticons were sent out to battle according to plan. There were puddles and trails of energon on the ground from the wounded and deactivated. Every once in a while, a missile or two would fly past overhead. Screams would follow, before the sounding explosions muffled the guttural shrieks of war.

"You," I pointed at a ground pounder running back toward the storage warehouse, "Where's Megatron? I need to find him."

"Dunno where the boss went," The mech did not even pause, tossing a reply before passing me.

An indignant sneer curled my lips, and I glared at his retreating back. I thought I wouldn't be surprised by the sheer insolence of these mechs anymore. Obviously I was wrong.

"You there, green and black!" I barked at another ground pounder, who was loitering as far as I could tell. He turned around, optics curious, and I saw that he was holding a data pad, which probably meant he was in charge of the whole loading operation. "I am Starscream, Decepticon second-in-command." I announced as I strode toward him, "I want to know the location of our supreme commander."

This grounder was much more tolerable than the last. At least he was making half an attempt at standing in attention and giving me a messy salute.

"I don't know much to be honest, Commander Starscream," He shrugged, "Last I heard Lord Megatron's was in the frontlines at Sector E. That was a while ago. Don't know where he is now."

Megatron's army clearly lacked proper discipline. I narrowed my optics and pursed my lips. "How come no one here knows where his own Primus-damned leader is?!" I snapped at the mech. "Are you _all_ useless and incompetent?!"

"Hey, don't yell at _me_. I just watch bots load 'em hovercrafts." The ground pounder lifted both hands in surrender. "As far as I know, the commanding officer here is Shockwave."

Shockwave? What the slag was a scientist doing out here on the battlefield?

"Where's Soundwave then?" I asked, wings jerking agitatedly on my back.

"With the boss? I don't know."

With a frustrated growl, I turned on my heels and walked away. These grounders were a bunch of idiots!

:_Bladeflight, Ramjet, do you receive?_: I tried again to hail my generals, but all the response I got was static. I contemplated accessing my side of the trine link to see if my trine mates left theirs open, but quickly dismissed the idea. Unless the trine was complete and together, leaving one's bond open could only be a liability in battle, since any distraction could be deadly. Hissing in expletives, I scanned the area, wondering where was, and found myself staring at the temporary med bay.

Of course, the med bay! My wings flicked up. I could fix my comm.-system there!

Running toward it, I darted and backtracked many times to avoid being trampled by bulky grounder pounders. Did they not watch where they were going?! The med bay was not quite a med bay, more like a designated location for mechs missing limbs to lie in an orderly fashion on the ground, groaning in pain while medics scurried around, trying their best to get to all patients before the injured bled to death. Equipment was scarce. Sterilization was nonexistent. Dead frames were already cut open and sliced to pieces to excavate reusable parts. I almost started to feel bad about the Decepticons having such terrible medical care when a voice roused me from my pensive observation.

"If you're not dead or dying I don't want to see you!"

I followed the direction of the voice, and spotted a green and purple mech. On his pale faceplate was a bright, red visor, and I felt my wing joints tense.

"You! Wings! Do you hear me or not?!" He snapped at me again, and I gave my helm a shake.

"…I'm not '_wings'_, you glitch-ridden _fool_! I am Starscream, your superior officer, and I _will_ be treated as such!" I yelled back, a scowl on my features.

"If you're not dying, you're not my problem!" The medic was hands deep in some grounder's innards as he threw glances at me, annoyance apparent on his lips. Ignoring his words and his unpleasant attitude, I propped my hands up on my hips, and declared to him in a shout:

"My comm.-system has been damaged, medic, and I demand to be fixed!"

"Trivial injuries will wait until after the battle." His reply insulted me with its belittling curtness.

"How _dare_ you," My voice rose in volume and pitch. "By rank alone, my injury _far_ outweighs the lives of these pitiful scrapheaps!" I waved dismissively at the bleeding grounders by my peds, and sneered.

The medic froze. Under his hands, his patient gave a low, static-filled moan.

"…I might not be an officially certified medic, flier." He turned his helm toward me, the gesture painstakingly slow. His visor erupted into blinding brightness, and it was alarming, jolting me back a step. "However," He continued, "I have willingly taken the Medical Oath of Cybertron." He glared at me, expression so full of distaste that I was rooted to the spot. "_Never_ offend me or my profession in such a manner again, you hear me?" He bit out, and only yanked his visor away when his patient gave another agonized groan. He went back to digging around in the grounder's chassis, and I was left feeling like a scolded sparkling, the sensation an uncomfortable churn in my fuel tank.

After a long moment of standing and staring, an explosion shook the ground under my thrusters, and jolted me out of my stunned silence. "I'm looking for Shockwave." I decided to change my wording. If the damned mech would not fix me, I could at least find the purple scientist and reach Megatron or Soundwave.

The medic sent out a blast of air through his vents as he pulled on something deep inside his patient's chassis. "Do you _see_ any one-opticked Cybertronians here?!" He replied, and gave me a brief, aggravated flash of his visor.

Annoyance flared inside my spark. "Actually, there are _many_, but _none_ of them are the one I'm looking for!" I answered in a snarl. "Just tell me where the frag he is!"

"If he's not dying, then I don't know!" With a forceful tug, a sharp, glinting piece of scrap metal came out of the injured grounder. Energon spurted out like a fountain, and splashed all over the place. With a grimace of disgust, I turned away. I could find a way to reach my fliers _without_ having to witness such a display.

I walked around the Decepticon stronghold, asking for the location of Shockwave. No one seemed to know, and I grew more aggravated by the klik. It was highly doubtful for a scientist to be at where the fighting was, since I did not think a mech like him knew any combat at all, despite his convenient left arm. Looking around blindly was a lost cause. I accessed my data-banks for battle plans of Tarn, and tried to discern where I would most likely find Megatron at current time.

Megatron…

Memory files surfaced as I sifted through the plans.

The strategy meeting held in Kaon had been excruciating in its formality. Between Soundwave's monotonous voice and Shockwave's linear logic, I was certain my processors had sunk into stand-by mode before air combat came into discussion. Well, it was not so much air combat, more of how to bomb the slag out of the Autobots in the most efficient way possible. Tactics and recommendations were thrown back and forth until the lengthy process of coordinating ground and air forces began. Throughout the entire meeting, Megatron did not look at me once aside from directly addressing me. He kept himself contained, demeanor aloof, distant, and I left Kaon feeling oddly bothered and discomforted.

Taking one last scan of the area, I gave up trying to find Shockwave, and took off into the air. With a quick transformation to jet-mode, I shot off toward the west, knowing by calculation that Megatron was most likely securing another sector for the Decepticons to raid if everything was going according to plan. I encountered more Autobots along the way, and almost got caught in a large explosion. Flames licked my tailfins. Smoke engulfed me like a thick chemical cloud. Debris pelted against my plating and wings, but I escaped, though with several more burns. Mood even more compromised, I pushed against my current safe speed limit, and sliced through the currents. More Autobots tried to take a shot at me. They missed. In less than a breem, I neared my destination, and began to descend when I noticed groups of Decepticons.

I had to be close. I could hear the deep, thunderous roar of the fusion cannon. The Decepticons' positions started to resemble the formation we'd discussed during the strategic meeting. Working out where Megatron should be was easy. I descended further, and clicked off my thrusters to glide in the air once I was safe inside Decepticon territory.

I started to look around, trying to spot Megatron. He stopped firing his cannon, so there was no sound aiding my search. He had to be extremely close now, though, perhaps only a few warehouses away. Passing by a few groups of Decepticons on patrol for stray Autobots, I circled the storage facilities, and noticed something huddled in a corner between two conjoint buildings.

It was a mech, a ground pounder. He was little more than a hunched shape hiding in the shadows, but only half of his frame was covered by darkness, the other half in plain view. Even from my distance, I could tell he was shaking. His body was drenched in energon, rendering his paintjob indistinguishable. He was not wearing armour like the Autobots, which meant he was not the enemy, so why was he hiding? Curiosity got the best of me. I tilted my axis, and glided closer. My spark almost froze out of my spark chamber when I realized who this mech was – someone I did not expect at all to see:

Orion.

The mech was Orion.

What in the pits was he doing here? I had comm.-ed him well in advance to tell him to avoid the docks during this specific night cycle. I could not reveal much, but I was very clear when instructing him to find an excuse to not take this shift. I was thorough in explaining to him the importance of him following through with what I said. I was certain he was going to listen, so why? Why was he _here_?

The dockworker was curled up, pressing his back as much as he could against the wall to blend into the shadows. He was shivering, shoulders in spasms. Judging by the amount of energon he had on his frame, I was surprised he was still conscious. He suddenly jolted, and hugged his knees even tighter against his chassis. I could not figure out what had triggered such a response until loud, boisterous laughter broke out behind me, and I instantly flipped in the air, transforming back into root-mode to hover.

There were a couple of Decepticon patrols approaching Orion's hiding spot. They were far away enough to not notice him, but if they came any closer, they would, with absolute certainty, see him. However, they were rather engrossed in whatever they were talking about, making a ruckus as they shoved each other and joked. If Orion remained silent and kept still, there _was_ a chance that they might miss him.

Before that line of thought even passed through my processors, a faint, but distinct whimper trickled from below me. My intakes hitched. The Decepticons dropped to silence. They were looking in Orion's general direction, and their optics narrowed, suspicious. They have yet actually seen the dockworker if their craning neck cables and cautious gesturing were any indication. However, I knew Orion would not survive the confrontation. The patrols had powered up their weapons, the whirr of their blasters unmistakable and immediately making up my mind.

"Decepticons, report!" I shouted at the patrols. "Have you spotted any Autobots?"

The group collectively jumped. One of them even dared to lift his blaster by reflex before his friend grabbed its barrel. These grounders must have been recruited without my audience. They murmured to each other as though they did not know who I was. I scowled, hands clenching into tight fists. Megatron should've educated his mechs about me even _if_ I wasn't there. What kind of soldiers didn't even know who their own Primus-damned Commander was?

"I am Starscream, Decepticon second-in-command and air commander. You _will_ report to me when I ask it, soldier!" I snapped, glaring down at them, and they grew nervous.

"We, uh…We didn't see any Autobots, sir." One of them answered, peering up at me.

"Then you obviously are not looking hard enough." I stared them down with disdain, and pointed at them with a swing of my arm. "Well? What in the pits are you waiting for?! Survey the area down south and make yourselves useful!" I waved my hand in the opposite direction, sending them away.

"But—…Commander Star—Star—…" The grounders murmured to each other as though they'd already forgotten what my designation was. "Commander Starscream!" The one who had been speaking announced triumphantly, and I made a scornful face. "We heard something by that corner and were just gonna check it out, sir!" The mech motioned in Orion's direction, and I forced out an annoyed growl.

"I'm hovering _right here_, you imbecile! There is nothing!" I propped my hands on my hips, lips pulling into a familiar sneer.

"But…I'm sure I heard something there." The grounders shared confused looks, hesitating to follow my order. My optics narrowed to slits. Sticking out my chassis, I fanned out my wings, and put on the most threatening expression I could muster.

"Are you _challenging_ my authority and credibility as your commander, soldier?" My voice was a low snarl, followed by the shrill whine of my null rays' activation. The grounders startled, and, without even a reply, scrambled in a turn on their peds. They walked away, sending nervous glances back at me. Before long, they disappeared from view, pushing each other behind a corner just in case I decided to give them parting gifts courtesy of my compact cannons.

I waited a moment longer before allowing a relieved sigh to pass through my vents. I turned back to Orion. He was staring at me, shocked, mouth hanging open. His blue optics pierced through the shadows, and he'd become still, tension apparent in every joint. I eased my thrusters, and landed a few steps away. Keeping his gaze, I walked toward him, pace slow, and frowned in concern.

"Orion?" I asked in a soft voice, bending down slightly to catch better view of his faceplate.

"…S-Seeker…" Orion whispered, and his trembling returned. "Seeker, you're—…you're here…You're _here_! …And your designation is Starscream!" He laughed, the sound barely rasps, and my frown deepened.

"Are you hurt?" I gave him a once-over, lips pressing together as I took in the energon caked over his plating. He gaped at me, as though he did not know what I was talking about.

"…Oh! This!" He finally snapped out of it, and looked down at himself. "This—…It's not mine…" His gaze lowered, and he tried to laugh again, but this time, he only managed a weak, humourless grin. "It's…my friend's." His words were hushed, the corners of his lips quivering, curving downward. "My friend…was—…killed…torn apart, right in front of me." His optics stared, forward, blank and unseeing. "I—I…survived… pretending to be dead under him…His energon soaked into mine."

His haunted expression was a little disturbing. My jaw hinges tightened, and I stopped in front of him, not knowing what to do.

"I just—…don't under_stand_…" He continued to speak, syllables becoming so muffled that I wasn't sure if he was still aware of my presence at all. "Dion just wanted to join the Decepticons. That was why he—…why he did not run away, even though they had big guns. But—…But why did they …_kill him_, Starscream…?" He lifted his faceplate, optics widened. "_Why_ did they _kill him_…?!" His expression crumbled, and anguished tears washed down his cheekplates. "…He was my best friend…" The dockworker shook, frame rattling. He choked, voice strangled and hushed. "…He was my best friend…!"

"Alright, that's enough." I could no longer bear looking at him, lips curling and spark uncomfortably tight inside my spark chamber. "You have to get out of here, quickly. I can escort you, but you'll have to be fast on your peds and hide as soon as I tell you to." When he gave no outward acknowledgement that he'd heard me, I became irritated. "Come _on_. Get up." I ordered him, knowing we did not have much time. There was still a battle ongoing. "Orion, get up!" I repeated, and when he still did not move, I reached for his arm, vents in a blast of a sigh.

"—No!" He immediately balked, and plastered himself into his corner. "N-No! Please! I—I can't!"

"It doesn't matter if you can or cannot, Orion. We have to go!" I hissed, and glanced side to side in case any other patrols was in proximity before making another attempt at grabbing him.

"No!" He shielded his faceplate, curling into an even tighter ball. "I-I can't! I don't want to die! They'll kill me just like they killed Dion! I c-can't—I can't!"

Snarling and biting back curses, I stepped forward, and grabbed onto his arm regardless of his protests. "If you don't want to die then you should have _listened_ to me!" I yanked, trying to get him to stand. "I _told_ you to find an excuse to not take the night shift. Did you think that was for no apparent reason?!"

"I—I couldn't…!" He shook his helm, struggling to duck out of reach of my other hand. "I couldn't leave Dion here by himself!"

"Oh for the love of Primus…" No matter how hard I pulled, he did not move, being heavier than I was. Frustration nipped at my spark. The longer we spent tugging at each other, the greater the possibility of someone hearing our scuffle.

"A-And the Autobots…" Orion continued, words spluttered. "If I—If I suddenly bail out of work, they might be suspicious. What if they—…What if they figured out that the attack will happen tonight? Then you might get hurt!"

I paused, lips hanging apart from the obscenities I was kliks from uttering. I stared at him, so surprised that my hand remained attached to his arm, even though I no longer pulled at the limb. I did not know how to respond, caught off guard that this insignificant dock worker actually worried about me. His concern that the Autobots would become suspicious of his sudden leave was unfounded. After all, his employer would most likely assume he'd lied so he could spend the night cycle drinking with his friends, as such behaviour was common for young mechs in the labour force, or so I've been told.

I doubted the Autobots really cared about which dock worker came to work. There was no valid reason for Orion to fret over his absence rousing suspicion.

However, his motivation for coming to work despite my warning was…a bit shocking. We were hardly friends. We'd only met once, and all we did afterwards was have a few conversations over comm.. This hardly garnered enough worth for him to risk his life, just to decrease a sliver of the danger I would face. It was irrational. It made no sense whatsoever. It was…a little spark-warming.

"Come on, Orion." I tried once again to drag the dock worker onto his peds. "If you don't want to die, then you should do as I say."

It took a lot of prompting, tugging, bribing, and yelling to finally get Orion to stand. His best friend's deactivation obviously jolted something loose in his processors, and even as I led him through the maze-like paths between the warehouses, he did not look like he was with me at all. His optics were glowing. Their brightness was eerie. I've never seen anything like them before. Every once in a while, I turned to check up on him, and each of those times, I was repeatedly surprised by how much light shone from the two specs of blue, enforced glass. We encountered more patrol teams along our way, which I then easily diverted after shoving Orion into the nearest dark alley. We stumbled upon several Autobot corpses during our journey, and I swiped a blaster for Orion from one of them, prying the weapon out of dead, cold fingers.

"Hold this. Keep your finger off the trigger unless you want to shoot." I wrapped his hands around the handle of the blaster. "Lean your weight forward when you fire, and don't forget to keep your peds shoulder-width apart, one a little in front of the other." He looked startled, optics darting between the weapon and my faceplate as though the blaster was going to ignite into flames right between his digits. I could not determine whether any of my instructions actually sunk into his processors or not, but there was no time for a repetition. I only clutched him around the elbow, and led him on our way.

"Listen to me, Orion," I whispered as I scanned the area for Autobots and Decepticons alike, "You are in the middle of a battle that has yet reached its climax." Seeing no movement around us, I pulled Orion into a quick dash across the intersecting pathway. "You must protect yourself. You cannot assume you are safe just for being a civilian. In combat situations, if you do not wear a Decepticon badge, by default, you are the enemy, simply because you are not one of us."

Suddenly, a familiar voice, flat and toneless, reached my audials. I cursed, and shoved Orion into the shadows of one of the looming warehouses.

"Listen to me, closely." I hazarded a quick glance in the direction of the voice, and cursed when there was a flash of blue. "I cannot accompany you further. You're on your own from here onward."

Orion froze. He did not answer, but he did not need to. Just from the increase of trembling in his hands, I knew he was terrified. Not that such mattered.

"Hide in the shadows as much as you can, and use the blaster only when absolutely necessary." My fingers tightened around his elbow, just to emphasize the importance of my instructions, and he hastily nodded. "Remember to aim before you fire. It might be difficult when you're fearful for your life, but the last thing you'll want to do is waste ammunition by being careless." My hushed words sounded harsh amidst the rumbling noise of battle as I pressed against him, keeping both of us hidden. "My comm. is out, so I can't guarantee you clearance from my fliers. Be careful. Find the Autobots. As far as I know, they shelter civilians."

The dock worker's vents stuttered in hitched breaths. There was a glimmer of rising coolant below his optics. Locked onto his frightened and panicked gaze, I clutched his arms, and gave them a squeeze. "Go into the city." I told him. "Go underground if you can, and don't come out until the battle is over." I offered him a tight, thin smile, a feeble attempt at flimsy encouragement.

"Stay safe, Orion Pax." With that as our farewell, I pulled away, and backed out of the shadows.

Leaving him.

Soundwave was a couple of warehouses down. Standing with him was Megatron. They both looked worse for wear, but neither seemed to have received severe injuries. With slight astonishment, I realized that the chipping red paint on Megatron's cheek plates had completely worn off. When did that happen? How come I never noticed before? As I wondered, Megatron turned his helm to survey the area, and spotted me in an instance.

I tried to look as nonchalant as I could about walking toward them, but it was hard, since being on the ground during battle for a Seeker was…odd. Soundwave stopped his droning, and pivoted on his peds when he noticed Megatron staring past him. They watched me approach them, and I had to smother down the urge to flick in my wings. I could only hope Orion had sneaked away, and that Soundwave was too distracted by the ongoing battle to feel the need to pry into my processors.

"Lord Megatron, I've been looking for you." I addressed him as soon as I got within range to be heard without the necessity to shout.

"Why aren't you monitoring your fliers, Starscream?" Megatron looked displeased, pinning me down with a hard stare. "From what I hear, the battle has not eased enough to justify you loitering around."

Plastering on a sneer, I stomped up to him, and scrunched my nose bridge while my wings jerked on my back. "If that damned medic of yours would actually do what I _told_ him to, I _wouldn't_ be 'loitering around'," I shouted to mask any possible scuffling from Orion, and crossed my arms. "If looking for my mighty leader is so _obviously_ a pointless pursuit." I narrowed my optics, tone needling.

"You look fine to me." Megatron did not even roam his optics over my form before commenting, and I scoffed through my vents.

"How enlightening an observation, oh insightful one." Sarcasm dripped from my voice like a thick film of oil. "If you'd actually let me speak before gracing me with your wise and brilliant commentary, you could've saved yourself the trouble of sounding like an imperceptive fool."

"You've spoken nothing but pointless garble thus far." He growled, lips curling, and his energy field flared, a lick of impatience against mine.

"Shut up! Are you going to hear me or not?!" I snapped, swinging my fists down by my sides. "You think I _wanted_ to leave my fliers to look for you? I only came because you're the only ground pounder aside from your communications officer to have comm. access with my trine mates and generals! Approaching my Fighter Jets and Seekers physically is out of the question, as I'll only end up making a mess by steering their priorities away from battle, and since my comm.-system got disabled from a lucky shot by one of the Auto-slaggers, I'm a little tight on _options_."

He stared down at me, and let out a hum.

What the frag?

"Well?" I hissed. "Are you going to _help me_?!"

"Before that, I have a question for you." He clasped his hands around his back, brow ridges in a frown. "Why were you walking?"

I was caught off guard. My wing joints tensed.

"Your wings appear functional, and judging by the fact that you still have enough energy to yap, you haven't received any serious injuries that jeopardize your flight system." He gave me a full-frame study, optics glowing and focused. "I did not hear you arrive in the air. I did not hear you land. I did not see you when I scanned our proximity since stopping at this junction." His gaze zeroed in on mine, suspicion a heady simmer. "What are you hiding from us?"

I shifted on my peds, and forced out a huff, optics averting. "Don't be ridiculous. I wasn't _hiding_." I clenched my jaw joints as I glanced up at him. "…I had to make sure you aren't Autobots!" I blurted out my excuse like it was the most obvious reason in the universe. However, even to me, the lie sounded weak.

"_Starscream…_" A scowl deepened the shadows creasing his faceplate. His stare hardened into a penetrating glare, and his energy field condensed around him, promising a world of hurt if I were to dare insult him with another flimsy excuse. My joints stiffened. Nervousness rattled my logic. My mouth parted before my processors could come up with any valid explanation. However, before I could seal my fate of receiving at least a vicious punch, a distant explosion jolted our attention away from the topic.

Helm snapping toward the direction of the explosion, I stared, lips still parted, as the night sky erupted into a splashing tide of optic-piercing red. The magnitude of the audial-shattering noise alone rooted me to the spot, gaping, when flames, engulfing the black canvas of stars, spat out burning debris. Before I could even stutter out an inquiry as to where it had come from, more sectors blew up, in succession, increasingly closer and closer. The very ground beneath my peds started to shake. The air was ripped open by heat and commotion. It was as though Cybertron's core had split. The quakes were so violent that I toppled over, yelping and scrambling to stay upright.

Arms caught me, and I instantly grappled on, optics darting in fear. The aggressive currents resulted from the explosions slammed into my flight sensors, and carried with them were sharp, glinting pieces of scorching metal, beating and scratching against my plating. I hastily deactivated my ventilation system, to keep the debris from clogging my intakes. The world was in chaos. The air itself had ignited. The dry, scalding heat around me blistered my paintjob, and, without the help of my vents, my internals skyrocketed to critical temperature levels.

Even my overworking coolant system could not bring it down. My fuel lines were on the verge to burst, the energon in them boiling. I shrieked in pain, and pressed into the frame that held me. We were being smelted alive. There was no other term to better describe our surroundings as the pits combusted around us.

Throughout the confusion and panic, I wondered how my fliers were doing. I sincerely hoped they had been out of range when the explosions happened, and that most of them were safe, unhurt. The flight conditions had become a total purge. The air howled into the furnace colouring the sky alight. While I was confident in my soldiers' skills, even the most seasoned of fliers would have great troubles trying to navigate the currents. Primus, what have I gotten myself into? How was I supposed to escape out of this?

"Soundwave!" Megatron's voice bellowed from right on top of my helm. I startled, spitting out a curse, but I should've known he'd be the one to catch me, having been closer. He pulled me close against his chassis, arms tight around my frame. I tried to struggle, but he tightened his grip, keeping me pinned. "Report!" He shouted to his right, and, for a long moment, only the screeching of winds and deafening roars of fire answered.

"Laserbeak—…loss of…c—connect—…Loss of connection." Soundwave's voice faded in and out, though its harmonized texture helped me to distinguish it from the noise booming around us. "Initiating recon—…Laserbeak, report. Repeat: Laserbeak, report…"

If the small drone was flying around when the bombs went off, the chances of it surviving was very slim. Its size and weight was no match for the currents clashing into each other. If it were lucky, it would not have deactivated upon impact against the ground or a warehouse, but the possibility of such scenario was pessimistic at best.

However, several kliks after Soundwave's repeated attempts at reaching his drone, there came a small, raspy squawk. Peeking over Megatron's thick arm, I saw a flickering shadow through the thick fume, and, a moment later, Laserbeak appeared out of the smoke, hopping on its little clawed peds. It was missing a wing, and one of its optics had cracked. Energon leaked out of the injured optic like tears. The drone stopped dead in its tracks as it spotted Soundwave. Looking up at the blue mech, it paused, and suddenly started scrambling toward its master with renewed, frantic vigor.

Soundwave rushed to his drone, more swift than I had ever seen him move. With large, hurried strides, he reached Laserbeak halfway, and knelt down onto one knee, arms extended. His back was toward me, blocking the sight of their reunion. Even so, I could sense something different about his behaviour, marked most distinguishably by the way his shoulders had tensed by an almost unnoticeable degree.

"Laserbeak: Return." I heard him order, and tiny sounds of transformation followed. However, it did not complete, and Soundwave patiently instructed again. "Laserbeak: Return."

A short while passed, filled with small noises of transformation cogs catching on each other. Laserbeak let out a tiny squawk, sounding pained and miserable. Soundwave reached toward. When he stood up and turned around, he was holding his drone to his chassis much like the way a creator would hold a sparkling

He approached Megatron and I in silence. "What did Laserbeak see?" Megatron asked, voice rough and dark.

"Laserbeak reporting: Explosion locations: Energon crystal storage facilities in sectors D, E, and F. Probability of destruction of other energon crystal storage facilities: ninty-three-point-two-seven percent." Soundwave dutifully intoned, betraying no emotional response whatsoever. "Confirming estimation: initiated. Connection to Autobot surveillance system of Tarn: established." He paused, and my wings trembled as I waited, optics watching his dimmed visor. "Estimation: inaccurate. Energon crystal storage facilities: one-hundred percent destruction. Possible explanation: Pre-planted explosives by Autobot forces."

Megatron cursed. I could only stare at Soundwave in shock.

"What of our mechs?" Megatron snarled. His arms clenched tighter around me, and it almost hurt, but I was too stunned by the news to protest.

"Status of Decepticon forces: unknown." Soundwave answered. "Establishing contact to Officer Shockwave." A pause. "Establishment: failure. Re-establishment initiated: awaiting response."

"What about my fliers? Where are my trine mates and my generals?" I asked, optics wide.

"Establishing contact to Vosian military frequency." Soundwave fell silent, and it was the longest wait in my lifetime. "…Connection Established. Commencing broadcast."

Soundwave let out an odd, buzzing sound, and suddenly, voices filtered out of his vocalizer.

"—the frag do you mean you can't reach him?!" Ramjet's voice blared out. "You're his fragging trine mates!"

"He closed his trine link!" Skywarp wailed, and Ramjet swore.

I felt stupid, a wince on my faceplate. Of course, the trine link! I could have checked on my trine mates by connecting to them through the bond since the battle was obviously on standby.

"Wait, there's someone on the line with us." Thundercracker. "I don't recognize the frequency!"

"State your designation, intruder!" Bladeflight demanded, voice harsh.

"Designation: Soundwave." Soundwave replied. "Current location: Sector F of outskirts of Tarn. Surrounding company: Lord Megatron, Air Commander Starscream."

"Star!" Thundercracker's exclamation of surprise and relief came through, accompanied by Ramjet's loud, relieved sigh.

"Thank Primus…" Bladeflight murmured, but he was immediately interrupted by Skywarp.

"Star? _Star_? Hello?" My purple trine mate called out. "Hello?! Can you hear me? Why isn't he answering?!"

"Air Commander Starscream: unavailable on Vosian military frequency." Soundwave answered for me, and I wanted to rub my faceplate with my hand.

There was nothing in the universe that could stop Skywarp's stupidity from standing out at even the most inappropriate of moments. I made a face, and offlined my optics with a hiss through my vents.

"Well, why isn't he on the line then?" Skywarp asked, sounding perplexed.

"Air Commander Starscream: comm.-system disabled from injury."

"Injury?" Thundercracker piped up. "Is he alright?"

"Affirmative. Status: fully conscious and functional."

"Where are you?" Skywarp popped in once more. "Gimme your coordinates and I'll teleport you out."

"Precise coordinates: unavailable. Teleportation: unadvised." Soundwave countered. "Current location: unrecommended for aerial frame types."

I stiffened upon hearing Soundwave's words, optics onlining to give him a look of confusion. I was as light as air frames could be, and I did not feel like I was in danger. The conditions were hardly comfortable, but I was not suffering beyond my threshold. I wiggled in Megatron's arms, and tried to get away, but his arms refused to budge, tightening to cage me against him.

"Ow! Stop that!" I snapped at him, helm turning to scowl. "Are you trying to _squish_ me to death?"

Megatron tilted his faceplate, the downward motion a slow inch. "I am _saving_ you from melting your wings off your back, ungrateful glitch-spawn." He snarled, expression shadowed and ugly. "_Stay still_ and stop making this any harder than it already is!"

"What are you—"

I startled when I finally took a good look around me since the explosions.

I did not realize until now that I was, in fact, pressed inside a narrow alley just large enough to fit me with my wing tucked back. Craning my neck cables, I looked behind me, and noticed that most of the passageway had been blocked off by collapsed walls. There was only a slit of the sky from what I could see. Most was covered in smoke tinted red and orange. Dipping my helm back down, I tried to peer over Megatron's shoulders, but I could only catch glimpses of what lay beyond him. His massive frame blocked me from the rest of the outskirts, engulfed by smelting pits.

My fingers clenched around his plating. I immediately understood that I was currently staying in perhaps the coolest spot in the entirety of Tarn, shielded on all sides. Megatron had effectively kept most of the heat at bay from blasting straight into my faceplate, but the temperature was steadily rising. The fire had not died down. My wings began to shake. I was fully aware of the danger I was in, as my plating was not dense enough for proper insulation.

Peeking over Megatron's arm, I looked at Soundwave, who was holding Laserbeak in a similar manner. Voices of my trine mates and generals continued to filter through his vocalizer, and he answered their questions patiently, standing perfectly still as though he was not currently being baked alive. He reassured them with his blank, expressionless voice that I was fine, and asked my fliers to scout the area at a safe altitude. Upon orders from Megatron, he requested a report on the general status of the Decepticons, the Autobots, and the storage facilities. After affirmatives were received, he ended the transmission, so we waited, anxious, caught amidst flames with nowhere to go.

"Has Shockwave responded?" Megatron spoke up when my fliers' voices faded out.

"Negative." Soundwave did not sound particularly bothered.

The ex-gladiator's optics narrowed, but he did not pursue the topic. "What's the estimated time for this fire to die down?" He asked instead, helm inclined toward his communications officer.

"Estimated time: one-point-seven-two joors."

"That long?!" I rose to the tips of my peds as I gaped at the blue mech over Megatron's arm, voice shrill with incredulity. "What, are we just going to…_stay here_ for more than a joor while doing absolutely nothing, and wait for this Primus-damned fire to _go away_?"

Megatron looked down at me, lips pursed. "Your input is not helping, Starscream." He stated, "Your frame cannot withstand the current conditions." I sent out a huff. He ignored me. "We don't know the detailed status of other sectors, which means it could be worse. Being mobile is too dangerous at the moment."

So what, he expected me to just stand here and be hugged?

I bit back the urge to scathe, and decided on being reasonable. "The two of you can obviously survive in this heat, and I can fly out of here in half a breem at most." I argued, the intimate closeness of our frames too comfortable for my liking. "I can fly straight up, and avoid exposure to the fire." I pressed, "I am fast enough to escape. You don't have to waste time staying here when you have the option to _move_."

"Don't be stupid." Megatron snuffed my idea, lips curled. "Heat rises. The air will burn much worse before you can reach a safe altitude." His voice carried gravity I've never before heard, optics ablaze, brighter than even the fire crackling behind him. "You forget what is being consumed here, Starscream. Energon crystals, raw, pure energy, in massive quantities stored in tight spaces." He kept my gaze.

"…Your wings will vaporize before you can surface out of the fume."

The weight of his words turned my spark ice cold. I could no longer hold his optics, lowering my helm and scooting closer against him.

Primus…the Autobots were trying to smelt us alive, to eradicate the threat in one, clean sweep.

The scale of their sacrifice was inconceivable. The mines were already having great trouble producing energon crystals. Starvation was a menace that bared its fangs over every grounder city, like a persistent fog. Vos was safe from its looming terrorization, but even within my own city, I knew, there were fliers malnourished and poor.

There were enough energon crystals here to fuel every single one of my citizens with refined grade for two full vorns, and they were all gone, in a shutter of an optic, burning away under flames that the Autobots had ignited. Many would suffer the consequences, most being Decepticons and civilians. Vos would remain unaffected as long as my city was careful with energon distribution. However, for mechs like Orion, the loss was devastation unimaginable.

"Soundwave, has Shockwave responded?" Megatron asked, and I once again peeked over his arm.

"Negative." Soundwave intoned, looking oddly calm despite the cracking and flaking of his paint from the heat.

"What is the current status of the Decepticon general frequency?" Megatron had to shout over the noise of chaos, voice coarse and gravelly. "I cannot access it."

"Decepticon general frequency: partial inactivation. Recommended course of action: forward orders for Lord Megatron."

Megatron replied with a curt nod, and Soundwave shifted Laserbeak so that the drone was perched on one of his hands. With his other, the blue mech tapped at the side of his helm. His visor flashed.

"Voice recording: commencing." He announced after a brief pause of silence, and turned toward our lord.

"This is Megatron broadcasting to all active units on battle frequency one," The ex-miner's voice was firm and controlled, not a single speck of uncertainty colouring his tone. "Our mission objective has been compromised. Begin retreat procedure. Hovercrafts containing cargo depart for Kaon at once."

Retreat procedure meant that the stationed hovercrafts on standby at a safe distance from Tarn would make their way to pre-designated pickup locations, where mechs on battle site would converge. However, the time allotted for the procedure was no more than fifteen breems, which meant anyone who cannot reach the coordinates fast enough would be left behind. Based on Soundwave's calculations, neither he nor Megatron would be able to catch the hovercrafts before they depart from the outskirts.

"Order: forwarded." Soundwave intoned after a short lapse of silence.

Acknowledging the blue mech with another curt nod, Megatron instructed, "Contact aerial forces for a status report."

"Affirmative." Several kliks passed, and my fliers' voices trickled out of Soundwave's vocalizer with a burst of static.

"-fifteen injured, keeping flight by their trines." Ramjet paused in what sounded like a casualty count as everyone on the line seemed to have noticed a foreign frequency's return.

"Soundwave: present." The blue mech announced.

"How's Prince Starscream?" Bladeflight asked.

"Commander Starscream: conscious and functional." Soundwave answered after catching my optics. "Inquiry: Current status of battle sites?"

"Like slag, that's what." Skywarp replied, tossing formality to the wind with a string of curses. "It's hard enough flyin' over this pit-hole, but the Primus-damned fire just ain't dyin' out. Seems to be gettin' worse if you ask me. Some warehouses are blowin' up all over again." He stopped for a brief moment, silence interspersed with whispers of static. "…I just finished a quick check. Only the north looks a little better. Everywhere else is pretty much equally fragged. Tarn's practically surrounded by the smelting pits. I wouldn't be surprised if the city ends up burning too."

The city was going to burn.

My spark shivered a little inside my spark chamber, though I gave no outward reaction.

If the city burned…where would Orion hide?

"I see shadows moving and approaching Decepticon hovercrafts." Thundercracker spoke up. "Does this mean a retreat is in order?"

"Affirmative." Soundwave answered. "Retreat procedure: initiated."

"What of Vosian forces? What is our Prince's command?" Bladeflight's voice was tense, carrying a defiant strain.

"Commander Starscream: second-in-command to Lord Megatron. Conclusion: retreat procedure in effect for Vosian air fleet."

Ice frosted over the frequency as my Fighter general paused. "…My wings bear the Royal Seal of _Vos_, ground pounder, _not_ the Decepticon insignia." Bladeflight remained professional, but his words carried an obvious edge. "What is our Prince's command, Soundwave?"

At that, Soundwave tilted his helm toward me, and caught my optics with his visor. I did not reply, staring back at the glowing pane of glass. In fact, I didn't feel like doing much of anything at all, processors groggy and systems slow.

"Well, we're not leavin' until Star gets his thrusters outta this slag-hole." Skywarp cut in, always elegant in his commentaries.

"Skywarp's right." Ramjet seconded. "We must remain with our Crown. If Decepticons can survive the explosions, there are probably Autobots who survived as well. However, I would suggest that our injured soldiers board the hovercrafts. They will decrease our efficiency."

"I agree." Thundercracker supported Ramjet. "We already lost many. There's no reason for the injured to stay in these conditions to suffer."

"Fighter Fleet General Bladeflight requesting clearance from Crown of Vos for permission to proceed as proposed by Seeker Fleet General Ramjet." Bladeflight directly addressed me, "Prince Starscream, please respond."

Soundwave was still looking at me, waiting for any indication of an answer. Slowly, I made a single nod, and the communications officer replied accordingly.

"Commander Starscream: affirmation received. Permission granted. Renewal of updates to Decepticon hovercraft units: Commencing."

My fliers' voices continued to float out of Soundwave even though the blue mech was obviously concentrated on another task. My trine mates shared their concerns and confusion as to why I refused to open my end of the trine link. Ramjet ran a wing count, and regrouped his soldiers. Bladeflight did the same, reporting the numbers. The injured were sent to the nearest pickup location. Trines accompanied their respective mates, and Fighter Jets of the same units went along with their wounded comrades.

Soundwave stayed on the line, and continued to broadcast my fliers. His intention was unclear, but Megatron did not tell him to stop. Hearing my trine mates and my generals helped settle me a little. I leaned against my gladiator, helm on his chassis, and allowed his arms to hold up most of my weight. Silence overcame us, interrupted only by Soundwave reporting that the hovercrafts have left Tarn. A rough count of remaining Decepticon forces was given, its numbers discouragingly small. However, Megatron did not comment on the loss of sparks needlessly extinguished on this night cycle. He only nodded, and that was all.

Silence returned. It did not break for several breems.

"You've been quiet." Megatron said. His chassis vibrated as he did, and I was momentarily distracted from my staring.

What was I looking at?

…Hmm.

That was odd.

Soundwave hasn't answered.

He was always so quick in responding to his leader.

"You are hardly ever quiet, Starscream."

Megatron was speaking to me, not Soundwave. However, I did not reply, because what he said was not a question. Statements did not need replying to.

Megatron stopped speaking for a moment.

"Are you still awake?" He said after the pause, and this time, I did answer, because it was a question.

I nodded.

"You must remain awake to monitor your systems. Automatic supervision cannot ensure survival in the current condition."

He was right, but my processors felt so heavy. My vision faded in and out, from the blinding flames around us to the luring, seductive darkness that blanketed me in comfort. The energon in my fuel lines felt so hot. They were probably on the verge of sizzling to vapour. My sensory network was bringing up warning after warning on my HUD, but there were so many, too many, for me to keep up or understand. My limbs felt weak. My wings had lost their perk. My entire frame was overheated, but my coolant system hasn't been helpful for longer than I could remember. I tried reactivating my intakes, but one breath of the scorching air had me instantly cancelling the idea.

…

…Someone was shaking me.

Someone was calling my designation.

What did he want? I was rather comfortable here.

A sharp, jabbing pain from my wingtip yanked me from the cool abyss of black. I yelped, and jerked awake, vision bursting into light as my sensors onlined.

"I told you to stay awake, Starscream!" Megatron snarled down at me, narrowed optics flaring brighter than the flames.

I didn't realize I'd fallen into recharge.

My helm dropped to the side, plopping against his chassis. Why could I not recharge? It'd felt so good to be unaware in the situation. I didn't have to feel the heat melt my expensive wax and blister beautiful paintjob. My flight sensors didn't have to register the licks of hot air sweltering around them. Even Megatron's body, my shield, was way too warm pressed against me.

"Soundwave, how long until we can move?" Megatron asked.

"Approximate calculation: forty-six-point-five-eight breems." Soundwave sounded boring even now. I wondered how Laserbeak was faring.

Megatron spat out a curse. I reasoned he had every reason to curse. After all, he was probably under a lot of discomfort, if not pain, from the suffocating heat. I'd be anxious to get out of here too if I were him.

"Take a reading of our surrounding environment and send the results to the fliers. Ask them if any of their frame-kin can withstand the temperature. If there is anyone capable, have Skywarp teleport him to Tarn immediately." Megatron said. "Starscream can't wait."

"Affirmative." Soundwave answered, and there was a long pause from the blue mech as he, I could only assume, took the appropriate readings. He interrupted my trine mates' hysterical dialogue, something about my end of the trine bond slipping, and informed my fliers of Megatron's plan.

There was unified silence from all parties on the Vosian military line after the results transferred.

"…Slag!" Skywarp bit out, and, with one word, summed up what everyone felt about the situation.

"Soundwave, give me precise measurements of the dimensions of your location. If possible, send me a visual grid." Bladeflight took control, perhaps the only one experienced enough to still remain level-helmed.

There was another bout of silence before Soundwave replied.

"Measurements and visual grids: sent."

"Received." Bladeflight did not speak for several kliks. When he did, he heaved a deep, frustrated sigh. "…It's no use. Space Shuttles are the only fliers equipped with an internal temperature regulation system that allows them to withstand extreme environments while in alt. without external mods, but the place is too small for them to fit."

"Can't you put the mods on me and I'll teleport in?" Skywarp piped up.

"Negative." Bladeflight smacked the idea down, as though he was worried that Skywarp would impulsively do just that without a klik's notice. "External mods only work for entering atmospheres, and you don't _plunge_ to land on a planet. It's a smelting pit down there. You won't last."

"What the frag do we do then?! We can't just leave Star!" Skywarp's voice heightened into a shout. "It's a slaggin' miracle that he's lasted this long!"

"What about insulation blankets?" Thundercracker cut in. "For fires and lab explosions."

"No." Bladeflight let out a hiss through his vents. "You can't fly with a cloak flapping in the wind with conditions like this."

"Then Striker Jets? With the mods?" Thundercracker's voice shook. "They're heavier plated than all other military frames. Maybe they'll have more time."

Bladeflight paused. "The probability of a rescue mission resulting in sacrifice remains high. Strikers are more durable, but they'll have a harder time maneuvering around the currents." His words were hardly encouraging. However, there was a faint note of pensive hope in his voice. "There are…very few Strikers I can think of that might have a chance."

"As long as there is _one_ who can do it, that's good enough." Ramjet spoke up. "We've all sworn to protect our Crown with our lives. I don't think the Striker Jets would mind." The Conehead was clearly too impatient to stall. "Ramjet to Stormstrike, do you receive?"

"Stormstrike receiving, proceed." There was a ping, and Stormstrike came on.

"We have a situation at Tarn that requires one of yours." Bladeflight explained. Someone fast, experienced. High maneuverability under extreme conditions and high level of stress."

"I have received your report. Your plan can work." Stormstrike replied. "Send Skywarp back to Vos. Nightfire is preparing the procedure. I will be ready to depart in fifteen breems."

"You're coming _yourself_?" Thundercracker sounded surprised. "You're one of our generals! There _must_ be someone in your troops you can send. You are too valuable for the war to take up this mission."

"No one is more valuable than Crown Prince Starscream." Stormstrike was blunt. Those in the military did not bother to soften the bladed edge of their words. "I will meet with Skywarp on the topmost flight deck of Patrol Tower S-four in fifteen breems. Coordinates to follow. Stormstrike, out."

An awkward silence permeated the frequency after the Striker general left. Skywarp was the one who broke it.

"Don't take it to spark, TC." He said. "No one's gonna think you don't care about Star. I mean, who's ever heard of a trine mate not worrying over his trine leader?"

Thundercracker's reply came through, but it was a murmur. I did not catch it. A critical-level warning sprung up in my processors. It blared, flashing in hurried succession, and spewed out diagnostic results.

_Coolant system: Unresponsive._

_Initiate emergency reactivation? Y/N._

Yes, my processors answered.

_Commencing emergency reactivation._

_Emergency reactivation: failure. Commencing error search._

_Error: Coolant levels depleted._

_Reactivate ventilation system? Y/N._

No. Gulping in hot air was not going to help.

_Error: Coolant levels depleted._

_Mobility: Compromised._

_Flight capability: Compromised._

_Initiate emergency shutdown? Y/N._

No.

_WARNING: Internal temperature beyond critical._

_Central systems: Overheating._

_Internal energon status: Unstable._

_Initiate emergency shutdown? Y/N._

No.

_Fuel pump efficiency: Compromised._

_ERROR: Coolant system failure._

_Reactivate ventilation syst—_

_Spark stability: jeopardized._

_WARNING: Spark stability jeopardized._

_Initiate emergency shutdown? Y/N._

No-

_ERROR: Mobility loss: Eighty-five percent._

_ERROR: Coolant sy-_

_ERROR: Central systems failure: Imminent._

_WARNING: Internal energon stability: Below thirty percent._

_WARNING: Fuel pump efficiency: Below fifty percent._

_WARNING: Spark stability jeopardized._

_Initiate emergency shutdown? Y/N._

N-

_Energon reroute: Spark chamber._

_Commencing emergency shutdown in five-_

Someone was shaking me.

_Four-_

Someone was shouting.

_Three-_

The voice was familiar.

_Two-_

A pair of red optics, looking at me, widened.

_One._

They were almost beautiful.

_Emergency shutdown: Initiated._

Megatr—

…

…

.

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><p><strong>Notes:<strong> Exactly two months since the last update. About time this came, eh? XD Sorry for the long wait! Hopefully, the length of this chapter has made up for it.

Huge thanks to my always lovely reviewers _MalevolentMask_, _Borath_, _Eiswolf-Zero_, _Ashcola17_, _Kira michi_, _Guest #1_, _Sneer_, _Tiikeri_, _Cannonade_, _Wooden-Horse_, _Random523_, _VyxenSkye_, _oh la la_, _Apple_, _AMNShadow_, _6MissSparklez9_, _loverofmythology_, _Devlinn Reiko_, _tiedwithribbobs_, _Guest #2_, _Trixxybaby1995_, _heretherebemonsters_, _theboombox_, _ladyredvelvet_, _starscreamfancypants_, _The-writing-Mew_, _extension-cord_, _Enlyien_, _TammyCat_, _darkblackandlight86_, _prismadecepticons_, and _Patched-up Matryoshka_. I can never express enough how much I appreciate your feedback. Sometimes I'd go back to read them. They motivate me to work on this story. :/)

Oh man, I don't even know what to say here. I've been absent for so long. Little Sunstorm is moving up in life! At least he won't have to starve anymore, the poor thing. Orion, Orion, Orion, you silly, silly mech. Who knows if he made it out of the fire? Who knows what could've happened to him, hmm? -wink- As I was editing this, I felt that this battle wasn't nearly as exciting as the one for Vos. Hope none of you fell asleep reading it, haha! At least getting stuck in a smelting pit seemed to have resolved some of that tension between Megatron and Starscream, though I don't know if all has been forgiven just yet.

Anyways, please let me know what you think about this chapter! I'd love to hear from you. :) The review box is conveniently placed just below. You know you want to click it! Go! Go!

It's calling to youuuuu.

X/D


	23. XXIV

Disclaimer: Do not own TFs.

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><p><strong>WARNING:<strong> Explicit sexual content; if there are any spelling errors and/or awkward sentences…I can't even care anymore; this is how it is now, after days of fighting against procrastination. X'D

Sorry for the lateness, and please enjoy, darlings!

* * *

><p>XXIV<p>

I onlined my optics.

For a very long time, all I could see were vague shapes in the dark – faint, bright spots swelling and fading.

It took me another very long time to realize that the vague shapes were shadows, and that the faint, bright spots were lights, from beeping monitors.

I stared at the ceiling, processors sluggish and confused.

I was on a berth.

There was someone beside me, on my right.

I tilted my helm, and saw a Seeker lounging in a chair, deep in recharge.

The chair did not look comfortable to recharge in, but the Seeker did not seem to care.

The Seeker was mostly blue and white, with a black helm and a white faceplate.

Thundercracker.

His intakes made soft, spluttering noises as he recharged, helm drooped forward.

The cycling of his ventilation was a slow, calming tempo. It made me drowsy.

Offlining my optics, I returned my helm to facing the ceiling, and fell back into recharge.

When my awareness returned for a second time, a difference Seeker was beside me.

He was in recharge as well, torso leaning forward, helm resting on loosely folded arms, sprawled on my berth. He snored a little, and muttered.

He was mostly purple, also with a black helm and a white faceplate.

Skywarp.

He suddenly jumped, intakes hitching, and squirmed. I thought he had jolted awake, but he only mumbled some more, wings flicking twice, and returned to snoring.

I sighed through my vents, and turned toward the ceiling.

I offlined my optics, and went back to recharge.

I felt as though I was missing someone by my berthside.

When I woke up for the third time, someone awake was with me.

A Stealth Jet was checking the monitors. He turned to face me upon hearing me move. He smiled when he caught my optics, and walked closer, placing a warm hand on my shoulder.

"Did I wake you?" He asked, voice a whisper. "I apologize."

I wanted to tell him he did not wake me, and that I was probably up because I undoubtedly had too much recharge. However, all I did was stare.

"Please rest, your Highness." His hand left my shoulder, and gave my wing a few light pats. "You need to catch up on all the recharge you've missed."

Pristinus, my medic, I recognized.

I took a deep cycle of air through my intakes, and sank into the berth.

Within a breem, I was in recharge again.

I woke up for the fourth time to a touch on my cockpit. Thinking it to have come from one of my trine mates, I did not online my optics at first, simply enjoying the soft strokes while my systems reactivated to full functionality for the first time in…

My chronometer aligned:

Three cycles, eight joors, and twelve breems.

However, as the rubs continued, confusion started to seep into my peaceful mood. The fingers tracing the seams of my canopy were too harsh to belong to Thundercracker, too careful to be Skywarp. Alarmed, I onlined my optics, just as the digits paused in their exploration.

A mostly white and black Seeker with red wings came into view. He had a pale cone for a helm, and his faceplate was the richest of ebony, on which stretched a wide, slag-eating grin.

_Ramjet_.

My optics flew into a gape. I glanced back and forth between his hand on my canopy and his faceplate, lips falling apart in an unspoken protest.

"Hello, my pretty," His grin grew even bigger, optics glittering with delighted mirth. "How about a waking present, hmm?" Placing both hands on either sides of my helm, he began to lean down, and his faceplate came closer and closer. To my horror, as the tip of his nose bridge neared mine, he puckered his lips.

With a loud, hitching gasp from my intakes, I opened my mouth, and screamed.

I scrambled to turn away, but only managed to move a fraction of a wingtip. His lips came in contact with the corner of my lips, and I shrieked even louder, fingers grappling to push his chassis and kicking my peds.

Running ped-falls came within auditory range, and the doors slid open with a "whoosh". Still bucking and thrashing on the berth, I peered over Ramjet's wings, and spotted Pristinus at the entrance with a team of my guards. To my utter dismay and sheer incredulous disbelief, they just _stood_ there, _staring_, with no indication at all of hurrying to my rescue from the amorous Conehead. Ramjet snickered some more, and made another attempt at violating my mouth. I was certain I was about to blow a fuse.

"What in the blasted smelting pits are you just _standing_ there for, you useless scrapheaps!" My screech was so loud that my vocalizer almost split to static, but I did not give a damn. "_Arrest him!_" I smacked Ramjet in the faceplate, and grabbed at his optics. However, before I could tear the slagging grin off his lips, he swung back from my reaching range, and laughed with a toss of his helm.

"You are truly a miracle worker, Pristinus!" The fragger exclaimed, looking at me with sparkling optics. "He's definitely fine now." He laughed some more, and indignation shot through my fuel lines with a rush of explosive burn. Shoving myself up from my berth, I was mere kliks from leaping at him with a shriek of rage. However, before I could, Pristinus got in the way, arms spread to prevent me from tackling the damned Conehead.

"Please settle down, Sire." The Stealth Jet placed his hands on my shoulders. "You have just recovered from a full emergency shutdown. Your systems are still delicate."

There was something about Pristinus in full medic mode that could make even a raging fireball of immeasurable wrath listen to him. Still fuming and scowling at a certain stupid aft, I pulled my legs back onto the berth, and lied down on my back.

Giving my right wing a comforting pat, Pristinus turned to Ramjet, and, to my great pleasure, fixed him with an icy glare.

"As much as I appreciate your concern for my patient, General Ramjet, I hardly think med bay visits warrant violation of personal space." The Head Medic stood over me in protection. "Your behaviour is unfitting for even a glitch-spawn."

"Come on, Pristinus, don't be like that." Ramjet held his hands before his chassis in pretense of surrender, and smiled, the upward tilt of lips crooked and cocky. "As his loyal general, I'm just happy our most beloved Crown Prince is finally wide awake."

"I highly doubt General Bladeflight or General Stormstrike, both of which are more than adequate examples of loyalty for you to live up to, would do the same under the given circumstances." Pristinus retorted with a bite in his words, and Ramjet winced.

"_Ouch_, medic." The Conehead seemed a little taken back, brow ridges in a frown. "That may be true, but Bladeflight and Stormstrike aren't trying to court him. I really _am_ serious about wanting to become his Intended."

What followed could only be described as one of the most awkward silences in the history of all known worlds because Pristinus was a flier that rarely got awkward around anything.

"…_Well_," The Stealth Jet shifted on his peds, and let out a huff, "You can court him outside my med bay."

Ramjet's wings immediately perked, and the slag-eating grin returned with a vengeance.

"Does that mean I have your approval for my courtship?" He took a step forward, vision lighting up with a flash.

Pristinus narrowed his optics, and promptly pinched the general by a wing tip, dragging the Conehead out of the med bay despite his pained protests.

"You have nothing. Now get out of here, all of you, before I throw you out one by one, which will undoubtedly be damaging to your reputation and your pride." Shooing everyone out, the medic shut the door with a quick tap against the key-pad, and swirled around, a most triumphant expression on his faceplate.

He walked to my berthside, and offered me a smile.

"How do you feel, your Highness?" He asked, reverting back to professionalism.

"Aside from wanting to kick some Conehead aft, I'm chipper." I was still sneering at the door, but my anger had ebbed a little after seeing Ramjet whine like a scolded sparkling at the wing pinch. "I'm surprised I was in recharge for more than three cycles though. What happened?"

"In short, General Stormstrike retrieved you from the explosion site with a heat insulation blanket." Pristinus answered, and his smile wilted a little. "Your spark energy was strong, but that was the only reading to come back positive. My medical team and I spent the remainder of the night cycle replacing necessary parts and draining defective fluids. You were stabilized, placed on priority watch. We left the rest of your recovery to your self-repair system last cycle. You have been making impressive progress ever since."

I nodded, allowing time for the information to sink in.

"What about Stormstrike?" I frowned, worried. "What of his status?"

"General Stormstrike…has suffered many burns, despite the external mod." My medic replied. "Some left permanent scarring in his cable wirings, but he survived very well for a jet charging into an inferno." Pristinus's smile turned reassuring as he explained further, "He was released from the recovery ward about one cycle ago. He will be returning to full active duty starting the next. I tried very hard to dissuade him from working so hard, but he promised to not overexert himself."

"I'm glad he's alright." I nodded, and set up a reminder to award the Striker for his accomplishment.

"As am I, your Majesty." Pristinus dipped his helm, and returned to his duties. He ran several scans over my frame, and double-checked the results on the monitors. As he worked, another concern nagged at my processors, gnawing my spark with avid persistence.

"Good news, your Highness, you are all clear." The Stealth Jet congratulated me. "It will take a few more cycles for you to return to optimal functionality, but you won't have to stay on a medical berth anymore." Even still, I could not stop thinking about my resurfacing worry long enough to be glad.

"Thank you, Pristinus." I murmured, gaze downcast.

The Head Medic bowed his helm, and went about to detach the cables connected to my medical ports.

"While your systems are recalibrating, please do not participate in any strenuous activities, especially ones that will cause you to heat." Pristinus began to instruct, "Please refrain from flying too much, though I would encourage stretching your wings when you have the chance." His digits were swift as he wound up the cables. "Refuel frequently for the next two cycles. Your self-repair system is still active, so monitoring your tank level is very important." He clicked closed the last of my medical ports, and gave me another warm smile. "Do you have any further questions or concerns, Sire?" He asked as he helped me sit up, expression helpful and patient, as always, before discharging a patient.

I _did_ have a concern, but it had nothing to do with anything medical.

"Well…" I started, but hesitated when I met my medic's optics, "I—…um…"

Oh for the love of Primus. I made a face, embarrassed at my stuttering speech. Who knew a Crown Prince to be nervous asking his subordinate a simple question? Pristinus was one of very few fliers who would answer me without making inquiries in return. Taking a deep cycle of air through my intakes, I mustered my nerve, and blurted it out:

"H-How was—…Megatron retrieved?"

Pristinus did not flick even a wing. "Decepticon Commander Megatron was teleported back to Kaon along with his communications officer by way of Skywarp." The Stealth replied without any particular reaction, a trait I've always appreciated. "They had to travel though the fire to meet up with Skywarp at a place where fliers were safe to land. However, I believe they returned to base without considerable damage."

Lucky slaggers and their thick, durable plating.

"Oh, and speaking of Megatron, I have something for you."

This instantly piqued my interest. I watched as Pristinus turned around, and walked to the other side of the med bay, where the cabinets were. Typing in a code, he opened one of the drawers, and took out a box. He slid the drawer closed, and came back to my side, smile perfectly professional and friendly while he handed me the box.

However, the more I studied his optics, the more I felt like they were twinkling a little too much.

"This came from Megatron?" I asked.

"Oh no! _Primus_, no!" Pristinus actually laughed, and shook his helm. "Please, your Highness, open it. I hope its content is to your liking."

A little wary from his behaviour, I lifted the cover of the box, and peeked in. Inside was a cylindrical metal rod with a rounded tip and a few buttons at its base. I frowned, and picked it up with a hand, looking over the object with no small amount of confusion.

"…What do you want me to do with _this_?" I waved it in the air, bewildered.

"Press the red, circular button, your Majesty." Pristinus gave me an expectant nod. His optics were definitely twinkling now.

A little unnerved, I pressed the button, and let out a most graceless yelp when the rod jumped in my fingers, and started to shake. I was so startled that I dropped it back into the box, optics wide as I gaped between the object and my medic, until finally, my processors could form a question through the utter disbelief stuttering my thoughts.

"You…gave me a _metal stick_…that _vibrates_…" I stated, unsure how to interpret this turn of events. Was this a joke? Was it supposed to offer me entertainment somehow? I looked up at the white Stealth, a frown once again knitting my brow-ridges. "What am I supposed to do with _this_?"

Pristinus's smile froze. He stared at me, and surprise slowly dawned on his features.

"You…do not know?" He asked, and I suddenly got the distinct impression that I was being exceptionally dull.

"_Should_ I know?" I glanced at the object with much suspicion, and tried in vain to figure out its purpose.

What the frag was I supposed to do with a metal stick that vibrates? It had no logical function whatsoever! All it did was take up space and make noise.

Fortunately, before I'd have to reflect on my incompetence any longer, Pristinus took pity on me, and decided to explain:

"_Well_, your Highness, you are a fully matured Seeker with a lot of needs to address." He spoke as though he was teaching a medical class, patient and causal hand gestures aplenty. "Due to the current status of your Crown, there are restrictions which prohibit you from satisfying some of those aforementioned needs."

I did not understand how my needs as a Seeker had anything to do with a metal, vibrating rod.

"However," Pristinus continued in his lecture tone, "Being unable to satisfy those needs does not make them go away. From my professional experience, I've come to realize that the more a flier is prevented from doing something, the more inclined they are to pursue it. In response to such a problem, I have found a solution," He motioned at the still vibrating object, "this apparatus right here."

I stared some more.

Had my medic glitched?

Before I could utter my very well-founded inquiry, Pristinus reached into the box, and picked up the rod before holding it up like a prized creation of science.

"_This_, Prince Starscream, is a receptive interface hardware stimulator, custom-made _precisely_ to fit your current dimensions." My Head Medic of Vos announced. "I purchased it from the most prestigious interface-toy maker stationed in Kaon, so I can assure you: it is very safe, and very satisfying."

My optics grew round. My joints froze up. I gaped at the Stealth Jet, voice stolen and processors stalled from shock.

Pristinus waited for a response, but I just stared.

He waited some more. I stared some more.

"…If…you are concerned about anyone finding out, please, no need to fret." He dipped his helm, smile still warm and inviting. "Every purchase is completely confidential, and I had written down my own address for its delivery. Just to ensure no one thought to be curious, I had personally retrieved it from the border, and General Stormstrike hadn't asked at all."

Well, that was reassuring.

I rebooted my optics.

At least no one found out.

I shook my helm, and gave the still vibrating thing another glance.

…Wait a klik.

Something Pristinus had said jumped out at me.

My optics stretched even wider.

"You—…Youknowmy_ valve dimensions?!_" I screeched, cheek plates flaming with hot energon as my vents roared to life.

"Affirmative." Pristinus replied, very much calm and collected and nonchalant about the fact that he had just given his _Crown Prince_ a Primus-damned_ interface port stimilator_.

"B-But…_How?!_" I bristled, voice shrill and choked, fuel pump thudding inside my chassis.

"I am your medic, your Highness." The Stealth Jet spoke as though being my medic answered every question in the universe. When I continued to gape, he elaborated: "I perform maintenance regularly on your frame, so, naturally, I know every little detail about you."

"You never measured my _valve_ when we had our maintenance sessions!" I yelled, unable to stop my voice from gaining in pitch and volume.

"Of course not. That would be uncomfortable and awkward." He quirked his helm. "I had to manually clean your valve on numerous occasions, twice most recently. That was when I recorded the measurements."

"M-Manually—…_clean_ my _valve_?!" I spluttered, gawking at my medic like he had lost his mind. "Since when did valves need _manual_ _cleaning_?"

"Well, they don't _always_ require cleaning," Pristinus explained patiently. "However, if the valve is aroused and overflowing with lubricant, cleaning is highly recommended to properly drain out the fluids. While a mech's system will take care of the excess, having it sloshing around will result in great discomfort. That is why I deemed it necessary to clean yours when I saw the need."

If I could feel any more embarrassed, I was certain I was going to burst into flames and burn into a nice little pile of ash.

Oh _Primus_…

I knew _exactly_ when those two recent times were too. Both of which my co-culprit was Megatron.

I could no longer look at Pristinus in the optics, so I averted my gaze to my lap, where the medic had replaced the still enthusiastically buzzing—…object into its box. Offlining my optics, I squeezed my thighs together, and let out a groan. Pristinus was silent for a moment. When he spoke up again, he had, once again, interpreted my reaction wrong.

"You needn't worry, your Majesty." He placed a hand on my shoulder. "The stimulation rod will be a snug fit, but its girth will not rupture your seal ring." He smiled in reassurance. "It will be able to reach all the sensors, even the ceiling node, and bring you much relief, especially during this time of high stress."

I wanted to bolt out of the med bay, but I did not know what to do with the box. I had no idea what expression I wore, only that it probably reflected how humiliating this entire situation was. If anything, this stimulation rod would only increase my stress levels. I now had to find a place to hide it, where even the cleaning staff would not stumble into.

Putting it inside my personal laboratory was out of the question. Not only would that be downright shaming to my pride as a scientist, Skywarp had visited the lab before. Primus-forbid if he ever found out about this thing. He would never stop making lewd jokes about it.

"…Would you like a manual demonstration, Sire?" Pristinus asked, breaking the silence.

My processors almost crashed.

"-No!" I cried out, optics flashing online as I jumped on the berth. "…Wh—_What?!_" I squeaked like a sparkling, and violently shook my helm. "No! _No_!"

"Alright, your Highness." Pristinus nodded, and bowed. I stared at him, vents in a trickling sputter.

Only Pristinus could ask something so downright absurd and not look demented.

The next several kliks were filled with insistent buzzing from the still vibrating stimulator.

"Um…How do I—…" I waved awkwardly at the thing, faceplate in a grimace. "How do I…turn it off?"

"Just press the red, circular button again, your Majesty." Pristinus instructed, and I immediately did as he said, letting out a sigh of relief when it finally stopped shaking.

"Well," I reset my vocalizer, and replaced the lid of the box. "Thank you for your…most thoughtful gift, Pristinus." I scrunched my nose bridge, and sent him a fleeting glance, still too embarrassed to look at him in the optics for too long at a time. "I will keep it close to me."

…Where no one would be able to ever find it.

My medic nodded, gaze compassionate. "You are very lonely, your Highness." He said, voice gentle. "I worry that loneliness will result in irreversible consequences, so this will be an adequate substitute for now."

"Um…Yes, I suppose." I fidgeted, and fought hard to not simply rush out of the med bay. I understood his concerns. Pristinus was worried I would taint my lineage by accident, which, after some thought, was logical for him to assume, based on all that's happened between me and Megatron. However, knowing the Stealth Jet meant well did not quell my embarrassment or humiliation.

After an awkward farewell, I hurried out of the med bay, optics darting in full alert to avoid bumping into any of my trine mates or advisors. I managed to sneak around my tower without interruption, and, eventually, my guard dropped, especially when I began to near my recharge chambers. Once inside the privacy of my personal quarters, I could find a place to hide this thing, and forget it has ever existed.

I turned the corner. The doors to my room came into view. Wings flicking, I hastened my speed. The keypad was almost within reach. I held up one of my hands, and reached to enter my passcode. Arm extended, I was merely two steps from the entrance when a shoulder abruptly popped into existence with a puff of purple smoke.

Without warning, I smacked faceplate first into the shoulder. I let out a yelp, and fell back, stumbling on my thruster heels. Trying to stop myself from falling on my aft, I flailed, and, for a split moment, forgot about my previous cargo. By the time I finally managed to restore my balance, to my utter alarm, the box…was no longer tucked under my arm.

Frantic, I swirled around in search, and spotted the box a few steps away, toppled right beside purple peds. The stimulation rod had rolled out, lying on the floor, and never before had horror struck me with such a blunt fist than when I realized just who I had bumped into.

I did not dare lift my faceplate to look at Skywarp in the optics, too terrified of the shame and humiliation awaiting me. I almost whimpered when he slowly bent down, and retrieved the box with the cylindrical apparatus between his digits. Nibbling on my downer lip component, I stared at the object in his hand, and fidgeted on my peds. I _knew_ what was about to happen. I just wished I could teleport like my purple trine mate so I could escape it.

"…Is this what I _think_ it is?" Skywarp had the audacity to ask.

I was one command away from leaping into jet-mode and fleeing in the opposite direction at top speed.

I did not say a word or make a single noise, and that seemed to have answered his question for him.

"…_Primus_, Screamer," I could _hear_ the grin stretching his lips. "I had no idea you were this _kinky_!" He had the nerve-circuits to dangle the rod right in front of my faceplate, and give it a wiggle. Embarrassment punched me in the cockpit. I spluttered, vocalizer stuttering half-formed words, and my wings jerked spastically on my back.

"S-Stop that!" I finally managed to hiss out, lashing forward in a desperate attempt at grabbing the thing. "And give it back!" I shouted, scrambling to take the object from his hand just so I could retreat into my berth room and wail about how unfair Primus was, to laden my cycle with so much misery.

"Why, Screamer?" The glitch flashed me one of his infuriating grins, and lifted the interface stimulator out of my reach. "Are you that eager to put it to good use?" He purred, optics glimmering in delight, and I _knew_ he was just soaking this up, the slagger.

"Wh-What—_No!_" I let out a static-filled burst of a protest, and swiped at the rod. "You—You sadistic fragger—…I swear to Primus—Aaaargh! Stop that!"

My cheek plates burned. My temperature rose. As I struggled to snatch the stimulator out of the purple aft's fingers, I wondered if this was considered a strenuous activity. But why would that matter. I would far rather deactivate than have this glitch of a trine mate give that damned thing one more wiggle.

He gave it one more wiggle.

I saw rage.

"Skywarp!" I screamed, and pranced forward, charging into him with a full lunge. He barely had the time to yelp before we fell to the floor, him landing on his wings while I slammed down on top. His vents wheezed, and he groaned, faceplate a grimace. Not that I gave a slag. I yanked the stimulation rod out of his fingers, took the box, and hurried into my room.

Not that hiding in my room did any good. Barely two kliks later, he popped into existence right beside my berth, and flashed me a lecherous smirk. I glared as I threw the rod back into the box, and replaced the lid, hugging it tightly against my canopy just in case he tried stealing it again.

"If you speak a single syllable about this to _any_one, Skywarp," I narrowed my optics, "I swear to our Holy Creator I'm going to—"

"-Yeah, yeah, you'll throw me in confinement for some lame-aft excuse and then bail me out when you have use for me again." He dismissed my threat with a flippant wave, and hopped onto my berth on his aft. I scowled at him, but he only grinned wider, and sent me a shameless wink. "Don't worry. I'm not gonna tell anyone." He snickered. "I mean, what's everyone gonna think if they knew my supposedly virginal trine leader's actually a horny little glitch?"

My wings twitched in unison on my back. My fingers clenched the box. Optics pinching to slits, the urge to throttle overtook my spark with a single sweep, scalding with the need to inflict unimaginable pain.

I wanted to shove the stick down his slagging throat.

"But seriously though, at least you got good taste." Oblivious of the danger he was in, Skywarp jerked his chin toward my box, and jolted me out of my indulging thoughts of violence. Once again feeling uncomfortable, I felt my lips curl, and tried not to squirm as my purple trine mate spoke on.

"That thing's one of the most expensive interface toys out on the market." He gave the box another glance. "Not that a flier like _you_ would ever need to worry about credits, but still, that thing ain't dubbed the 'overload stick' for nothing."

I started to shuffle on my thrusters. Our conversation was becoming progressively more awkward. I had absolutely no interest whatsoever of learning about this object which shall be forgotten, but Skywarp had no tact to speak of.

"Hey!" He perked up, optics flashing – a sure sign that this situation was about to nose-dive in the upcoming klik. "You _hafta_ tell me how it is after you try! If it's real good I might blow some credits on getting one too."

Looking at his hopeful expression, I couldn't formulate even one word. I could only gape with my lips hanging open, thoroughly stunned into a stupor.

"…I-I—…I'm not going to—…_use_ it!" I choked out, rattling my processors clear of unwanted images. "I'm going to hide it and forget that I'd ever seen such a thing!"

"Really?" Skywarp actually frowned. "You're not gonna even try it?"

"_No!_" I shouted, making a face as though he had lost what was left of his processors.

"Wow…You sure?" My purple trine mate continued to frown, peering at me while he paused and studied my expression. "I mean, so many mechs want it and can't afford it and you're just gonna stash it somewhere and forget about it?"

I pursed my lips, and refused to regale him with a response.

He let out a snort of a laugh. "Seriously though, even glitchy little pit-spawn _Swiftglide_ wanted one. He practically begged me to get one for 'im, and the slagger's been grinning like an idiot ever since."

Skywarp waited for a reply. I gave none. The purple Seeker shrugged, and leaned back on his hands.

"Well, if you ain't gonna use it," He tilted his helm, "can _I_ have it?"

My optics stretched to their limits.

My jaw-joints fell loose.

I must have developed a glitch over the past joor that caused me mental lapses and speech deficiencies.

The box was suddenly much heavier than it used to be, and I wanted nothing more than to toss it into a smelter. However, I could not, because a certain Primus-damned slagger of a trine mate was probably going to snatch it and run off, which could only result in even greater disaster.

"For the sake of the Unmaker, Skywarp," I scrunched my faceplate. "Just _shut up_. I don't want to hear anything more about this stimulation rod."

Skywarp shrugged again, though he continued to glance at the box with interest. "Your call, Screamer." He murmured, and, thankfully, did as he was told for once.

"Stop _calling_ me that!" I snapped at him as I put the box into one of my drawers. Snapping it closed, I sent my trine mate a look of irritation, and crossed my arms over my chassis. "So what did you _actually_ want, teleporting right in front of my recharge chamber doors?"

Skywarp lingered on the drawer before turning his optics back to me. "Well," He answered, "Pristinus sent me a comm. telling me you're out of the med bay, so I told Megatron. Now he wants me to bring you over, to Kaon."

I turned up my nose bridge.

"Why in the pits did you tell _Megatron_ about my leave from the med bay?" I huffed, and sneered. Sometimes this purple idiot was too much of a nuisance.

"'Cause I was _happy_!" He replied as though it was obvious, "So I wanted to tell someone. And Megatron was right there, so I told 'im."

I wanted to smack him on the helm, but I was still too embarrassed about the interface stimulator incident to get too close to him, so I only pursed my lips.

Taking my silence as a cue he should continue, Skywarp blabbered on.

"Anyways, after he told me to get you, I teleported to the med bay, but you were already gone. I asked Pristinus where you went, and he said probably to your recharge chambers. I was just gonna warp away, but he stopped me before I could, to tell me not to barge straight in. I didn't know why at the time, but I guess _now_ it's pretty obvious." The infuriating grin was back, and then came the snickers.

I growled in warning, but there was no fix for idiocy, so I decided to overlook his transgressions for now. There were more curious matters to tend to.

"What does Megatron want with me? Can't it wait?" I was not keen on leaving my city until my health was back in full. "Why didn't he contact me directly? I don't have the patience for his stupid little games right now."

"How am _I_ supposed to know? I was just sent here to get you." Skywarp made a sloppy shrug, and offered me one of his hands. "Well? You comin'?"

I really _did_ want to decline as I stared at his outstretched hand, displeasure oozing from my seams. However, I had nothing scheduled for the cycle, and Megatron played a part in keeping me alive until my Striker general saved me. Sighing, I strolled up to Skywarp, and placed my hand in his.

I might as well visit Lord Slagger before he could extort another request out of me.

My chamber morphed away, and, barely a klik later, I found myself in Kaon, inside the throne room of the Decepticon base.

Megatron was standing in front of the big monitors on the side wall, Shockwave beside him. Soundwave was seated before the console, intoning one thing or another while he typed in codes. The Decepticon lord had his hands clasped behind his back. He stared intently at the bright screen before him, a thoughtful, hard look in his optics. His brow ridges slightly furrowed, and he nodded every once in a while, though he remained still otherwise, listening to his communications officer.

I gave him a brief once-over, lips curling in distaste. There was a new coat of dull gray on his plating, application clearly having been done in haste. A few darkened spots peeked through, indicating that he has not treated the burn marks, merely hiding them under messy paint plastered on without care. His derma did not gleam at all. Out of everyone in the throne room, he appeared the most ragged, which churned my tank, as he was supposed to be our leader.

I waited for Megatron to acknowledge my arrival, arms crossed and hips jutting to one side. I tapped a ped against the floor, its brisk repetition marking the tempo of my annoyance toward his lack of proper address. My action seemed to work in gaining his attention. A moment later, Megatron let out a low, conclusive hum, and turned to face me. His optics held mine for a few kliks. They roamed over my frame, studying its condition, before catching my gaze once more with a hard, inquisitive stare.

I frowned, an automatic sneer curling my lips. He did not look as eager or pleased to see me as I had expected. Not that I thought he was going to embrace me and hail my recovery with poetry, but he could have at least given an indication that he was glad I had not suffered lingering damage from being stuck in the smelting pit for too long.

"Well?" I snapped, voice sharp and ringing inside the large, dimly-lit chamber. "Are you going to greet me or stare?"

"Starscream." He spoke my name, voice deep and coarse.

"…That's _it_?" My sneer grew more pronounced, and I glared at him. "A true leader would know how to properly treat his second-in-command and give him the respect that he deserves."

Megatron did not reply. He kept staring, expression shadowed and difficult to read. He was acting odd, only _watching_ after I took a jab at his lack of leadership skills. Just as I was half a processor from lashing out at his persistent scrutiny, he addressed the others, optics not leaving mine for even one moment:

"Everyone but Starscream, out."

His tone left no room for discussion. His loyal lapdogs bowed, and walked toward the door. I felt Skywarp linger by my left wing, probably worried about me. However, after a while, he left too, with a quiet, distinct "pop".

I was alone, with a possibly volatile ex-gladiator whose lust for violence knew no boundaries. That made me nervous, vulnerable and small, but luckily, I was out of grabbing range of his arms. However, if I'd learned anything from our previous interactions within this very chamber, it was that I was not exempt from the glinting fusion canon on his right arm.

Well, at least he'd remembered to polish _that_.

I pursed my lips, and swallowed down the urge to send out a spluttering huff through my vents.

The silence became suffocating. With a loud intake, I flicked my wings, and started to pace, steps brisk and spark jittery. His optics traced my every movement, the same way mine was keen on his. We remained in this stance for almost three full breems, while the silence weighed heavier by every passing klik. This was ridiculous. My schedule might be clear, but that did not mean I was available for loitering around.

I stopped before him, and curled my lips in an attempt to mask my nerves.

"_Well?_ What's the matter with you?" I huffed as though peevish, narrowing my optics at him in suspicion. "Is this _all_ you wanted me to come here for, to have you _stare_?"

Megatron remained silent, watching me still.

Not deterred in the slightest, I decided to try a different approach. Perking my wings and stretching them to their full span, I placed my hands on my lips, and tilted up my chin, a smirk plastered over my lips.

"If you wanted to admire me, Megatron, you could've simply said so." I cooed, voice sickeningly sweet and gaze flirtatious. "I would've gladly sent you image files for you to gawk over."

That finally stirred a reaction. One of his brow ridges jerked, and he made a low hum, expression morphing from impassive to unimpressed. Not exactly how I'd imagined him to respond toward the prospect of getting my pictures, but at least the silence had broken.

"Our troops suffer great losses from the battle at Tarn." He began. "Casualty counts are high, even higher than the number of injured. This is a setback to our progress and future plans, which has undoubtedly given the Autobots a boost in morale." His optics brightened to a full shine, despite the flat note of his voice. "However, what I am most displeased with is not what I've just mentioned, but that our main objective had failed."

"And _what_, you think it was _my_ fault?" I scowled at the implicative nature of his words, and glared harder at his faceplate. "As far as Vosian forces are concerned, we did everything _perfectly_. If you grounders were only faster, we would've been able to salvage much more energon crystals than what we came back with."

To my surprise, Megatron did not become angry. He continued to study me with the same intensity, and spoke on as though I had not yelled and blamed him at all.

"In review of our failure, I had Soundwave pinpoint exactly when the Autobots installed explosives in the warehouses." He gestured to the monitors with a wave, and turned to face them. "I was not convinced they had always been there. It would be foolish to keep explosives in proximity to raw materials for a prolonged period of time. Any accident could trigger devastation beyond measure, which I doubt the Autobots were willing to risk before the time is right."

"Who _cares_ if the Autobots have glitched from desperation?" I groused. That earned me a pointed glance from Megatron over his shoulder, but he did not comment on my input.

"After careful study of all available surveillance data," The ex-gladiator turned back to the monitors, "Soundwave reported that the explosives had been placed inside the warehouses one cycle before our attack, hidden in standard storage crates." He tapped a key on the console, and an image of drones carrying the crates appeared on the screen. "Every cycle, energon crystals arrived at the same time, and the drones would stock them. Soundwave had deduced the crates to contain the same thing. However, upon review, he found that the crates arriving the cycle prior to battle were one micrometer closer to the ground, which would suggest a greater weight."

"So the whole mission failed because Soundwave was careless," I cut in, sauntering closer to the screen. "What does this have _any_thing to do with me?" I waved at the monitors, brow ridges in a small frown.

"Soundwave will receive appropriate punishment. However, for the time being, curiosity outweighed my anger." Megatron kept his gaze on the screen, expression stern and guarded. "I don't believe in coincidences. What I then wanted to know was how the Autobots had found out when we'd planned to attack."

I still failed to see how any of what he was saying had any relevance to me, but, to humour him, I listened, vaguely attentive and mostly bored.

"By my instruction, Soundwave reassessed every footage we have of the outskirts prior to and during our battle. He stumbled upon something that will be of great interest to you." Megatron tapped once more on the console, and a video file opened.

My frown deepened, and I leaned closer, peering at the screen. It was difficult to tell what the video was about at first. Eventually, however, I recognized smoke, blocking the view of the camera. I was just about to blurt out a sarcastic comment when it cleared, and warehouses appeared, blurry for a few kliks. I did not know what I was supposed to see. There was no one in sight, only a vacant street and flickering shadows on the walls of the storage houses.

My lips parted, an inquiry already formed on my glossa. However, just as it was about to depart from my vocalizer, I spotted someone, a tiny smear of a shape familiar to my processors.

Orion was huddling in a corner, hugging his knees and hiding in the shadows at the bottom right edge of the screen.

I froze, question choked back. I stared, optics widened, and I could not think, watching the monitor, too stunned to move or speak. In a moment of frenzy, my processors yanked out the memory file from that night cycle, and I instantly recognized the place as where I had first found Orion and saved him.

My wing joints stiffened. My limbs grew rigid. My intakes stuttered to a stop, and my fuel pump began to race, its quickening beat an audible thud inside my chassis. I could see Megatron looking at me from my peripheral vision, but I did not dare turn to check what expression he wore. Energon chilled in my fuel lines, the tickling slide of claws throughout my neural network.

I knew exactly what was going to happen next. However, seeing it blatantly displayed on the screen under the optics of my commander, I was horrified. Shock and fear stung. I watched, spark clenched and icy cold, as I appeared in the video, and sent away the group of Decepticons to save my dock worker friend.

On the screen, I landed, and approached the huddled grounder.

I struggled with Orion, trying to pull him onto his peds.

After much effort, he finally relented, and followed me like a lost, frightened youngling. I pulled at his arm, insistent to bring him to safety.

There was another curt tap, and another video came on the screen.

I was leading Orion down a passageway, and promptly shoved him into the shadows as we encountered another group of Decepticon patrols. After much violent gesturing with me aiming my null rays, I sent them scurrying, before tugging Orion after me once again.

Another tap. Another video.

I shot down a group of Autobots, and yanked Orion out of a corner when all enemy soldiers have been deactivated. Orion looked extremely reluctant to get near the bodies, but I tugged him along regardless. Bending down, I retrieved a blaster, and handed it to the dock worker, lips moving in silent words.

My frame rattled in a shiver. I could no longer watch, jerking my helm away and offlining my optics.

There were no more taps. Silence filled the air of the throne room.

"There are more, but I believe these will suffice." Megatron spoke. His voice was quiet, calm, deceptively so, and it frightened me much more than if he were to bellow. I shook harder, and wrapped my arms around myself. We were close enough for me to feel every shift of his energy field, and it burned, scorching like the flames at Tarn, overpowering like blasts of surging winds against flight sensors. He was too overcome by rage to even roar at me. That terrified me to the core, because it indicated that his mind was clear. Fury combined with calculating processors meant immeasurable danger. It also made him unpredictable, so I had no idea how to escape his wrath. I could not anticipate his moves, or what he might have wanted to hear. I could only hope he would allow me to explain myself before tearing me apart. This time, even I knew he had every reason to.

"Nothing to say for once, Starscream?" His voice rasped. A spasm jolted through my frame. Quivering on my thrusters, I slowly turned toward him, and, optics wide and imploring, I whimpered:

"M-My lord, I—…" My vocalizer cut to static under the strain of my brimming terror. I hugged myself tighter, and began to scoot backwards. "Please, I—I can explain! It's not—It's not what it looks like…! I didn't—"

His hand came down before I could even yelp. With a loud smack, he struck me, and I fell, sensory receptors in my cheek plate searing with pain. I landed on my arms and my knees, processors momentarily stunned. However, I forced myself back onto my peds as fast as I could, and shook my helm to clear the buzzing haze. I backed away, stumbling on my thruster heels. Megatron had no moved. He's only turned to look at me. His arms hung limp at his sides as though he had not backhanded me at all, and his expression was blank as a mirror, optics flickering through the shadows hooding his faceplate.

"Despite what my demeanor may suggest, the little patience and reservation I have for you have run its course." He articulated, syllables clear and sharp, voice a low growl. "_Explain_, Starscream. Quickly. You won't appreciate the resulting consequences otherwise."

"H-He's—" I spluttered, "I-I mean—"

He snarled in warning, and I let out a wavering cry of alarm, arms shooting up to block my helm. I cowered away, and almost collapsed to my knees, a plea for him to not hit me again squealing past my lips. It was clearly not what my Lord wanted to hear. His optics narrowed, and he strode forward, hands clenched into tight fists.

My optics stretched to saucers. "No! _No_! P-Please don't—!" I backed away, peds scraping against the floor. I had just left the med bay. I had no urgent desire to return to it so soon.

Megatron did not stop. He kept advancing closer, lips pulled in a downward arc. "His designation is Orion Pax!" I blurted out, "I met him when you sent my trine to scout the outskirts a-and we became friends!" My words rang inside the chamber, halting his steps. The ex-gladiator pit-bent on ripping me limb-to-limb has paused for me to continue, optics glowing slits and energy field filling the room, stirring the air.

My processors ran overdrive to spurt out what I could say. My cooling fans whirred, heaving my canopy as I slowly lowered my arms, and crossed them before my chassis.

"We were just friends, I swear!" I shuffled backwards, a tiny scoot at a time. "We chatted over comm. a few times, but we never talked about anything military, only mundane topics." I hurried to explain, "He—He didn't even know who I am, just that I'm a flier. He had no idea what my designation was, or that I'm the Decepticon second-in-command. W-We just—We just talked about his apartment, his potential mate, and that-that bar in Tarn he really likes. I swear, Megatron, I didn't betray you! That was all we talked about! S-So _please_! Don't hurt me!"

My back hit the wall, and my intakes hitched in startle. Tentatively lifting my chin, I looked up at his towering form, and pressed myself harder against the cold, rough surface behind me. He practically had me pinned, only a few strides away. I whimpered, and put on the most pitiful expression I could muster, knowing from experience that he reacted well to begging.

Just to appear even more harmless and pathetic, I lowered my wings, until their tips pointed to the floor.

While I was terrified out of my wits, I had every intention of staying functional. I was aware that mighty Megatron, despite his desire to build a godly image for himself, had very ordinary needs. The good thing about being a Seeker was that most mechs found wings and sleek lines aesthetically pleasing and irresistible. I was an exceptionally beautiful Seeker, attractive enough to enthrall optics and captivate sparks with a mere few of well-placed wing flicks and minute trembling of thighs.

I did exactly that, peering up at him with widened optics and quivering lips. I arched my back, the gesture perking my aft, and bit back an ex-vent of relief when his scowl dropped a little. Megatron became momentarily distracted, gaze flickering over my frame before returning to its previous glare into my optics.

"Orion must have been an Autobot spy." He stated.

"…Wh-What?" I frowned, and began to protest. "No! He is _not_ a spy. He's just a dock worker who lives in Tarn."

"He is an Autobot spy disguised as a dock worker who lives in Tarn." The ex-gladiator's vents let out a growling blast of hot air, and his voice was firm and certain, which, somehow, offended me.

"No, he is not!" I straightened, and hiked up my wings. "He works at the docks and that's what he has always done!" I retorted.

"He obviously _lied_." Megatron narrowed his optics, and I got angry.

"No, he did not!" I shouted at him, sneering in defiance. "I can _tell_ if a mech is lying to me, Megatron, and Orion was most definitely not. Don't you think I'd _know_ the difference between a _spy_ and a _civilian_?!"

My lord's expression told me all I needed to know about what he thought, and indignation erupted like a supernova inside me.

"Are you suggesting I am _stupid_?!" I bristled, and pointed at his faceplate with a swing of my arm. "I will graciously overlook your accusations that my friend is a spy, but I _refuse_ to excuse you from making obvious implications that you think my processors are deficient!"

"I will withhold my opinion on your intelligence, but I will say this, Starscream: you are young and rash. Those qualities cloud your judgment." Megatron replied in equal fervor, words a heated bite, and I almost lashed out at him.

"How _dare_ you insult me?" My voice raised a whole tone higher, and my heels almost left the floor as I stretched my frame to its full height. "Just because I'm not old and senile does not mean I cannot tell friend from foe!" I hissed, dentae gritted, "And need I remind you, oh illustrious, all-knowing _leader_, that it is _your_ subordinate who'd failed to notice the Autobots transporting bombs into the warehouses. _Not_ me or mine! If you cannot see where such blatant fault lies, then you are unfit to be my lord."

"Don't blame another to justify your own shortcomings, Starscream." Megatron snarled, jaw hinges clenched. "If you hadn't befriended a _spy_, the Autobots wouldn't have known when we'd planned to attack."

"I'm not trying to justify anything!" I yelled louder, fingers curling into my palms and sneer scrunching my nose bridge. "You think _I_ am doing the blaming? You're worse!" I screamed into his faceplate, anger surging through my fuel lines like liquid heat. "You see justification in place of truth. I will _not_ take responsibility for blunder I did not commit. If you are so concerned about coddling your pride by passing misplaced blame, you are clearly undeserving of my subservience!"

"You go _too far_, Seeker." His voice growled deep in his chassis, and he loomed over me, optics slits of fire that spat crackling sparks. However, I was too furious to care. No one got away from implying that I was stupid without being put in their proper place.

"_Just so you know_, Megatron," I needled, baring him a malicious smile, "even _Orion_ would make a far better leader than _you_!" I bit out, chin tilted up. "Orion actually wanted to join the Decepticons, but luckily for you, he didn't." I took an offensive step forward. "If he did," I barked a laugh, "he would've uprooted you in a matter of joors!" I announced to the chamber as though we had an audience.

"For you see, unlike _you_, sub-citizen laborer," I smirked, quirking my helm with a coy sway of my hips, "Orion is well-spoken, well-learnt, and he actually understands the merit of appreciating brilliance where it's due. _And_," I glared up at the insolent ground-pounder, "What do you know?" I grinned, "He's so completely opposite of _you_.

"He's everything you'll never be." I gritted through the upward stretch of my lips. "He has my trust, and that is something you will _never_ have!" I shrieked at the ex-gladiator, frame rattling with rage.

My words finally riled a response. Megatron roared, and lunged forward, the sound of combusting fury torn from his gut. He gripped me by the neck cables, and slammed me into the wall, clattering my wings against hard, dense metal. My sensors rang with alerts of protest, stabs of pain slicing through my neural grid like streaks of fire. I cried out, and bucked against his hold, thrashing against the relentless clench of his fingers.

"Let _go_ of me, you _brute_!" I scratched at his hand, vocalizer straining under the pressure.

Megatron paid my struggles no mind.

"Let me make _one thing clear_ to you, Starscream," He bit out, "I do not give one slag about your petty opinions about me." His optics were slits of raging smelting pits, vents growling bursts of hot air. "I have only one question for you, and you are going to answer. If you do not comply, Primus-smite-me I will rip you apart!" He bellowed right into my faceplate, and pressed close until our nose bridges almost touched. "Did you, or did you _not_ tell Orion Pax about the time of our attack?"

I grappled onto his wrist, and glared back in equal force.

"Answer me!" He slammed me against the wall once again. My wings scraped against the grit, and a cry stuttered through my vocalizer, vision spotting with feedback as the back of my helm hit the hard surface.

"F-Frag you!" I dug my digits into the seams of his forearm, and aimed kicks at his torso. "How _dare_ you attack me?!" I bared my dentae, ex-vents in spurts. "How _dare_ you attack _me_, the Crown Prince of—"

The coarse rumbling of engine cut off my words. Ventilation system spitting a surge of scalding air, his fingers tightened around my neck cables, and I winced, yanking on them, vocalizer in loud squeaks of static.

"If you refuse to respond by your own volition, I will _force_ it out of you." He hissed with a grating glottal at the back of his throat, and bore his weight against me, pinning my legs with his own. His cooling fans whirred at top speed, chassis hot enough to melt my polish. "One last time, Seeker," He gritted, snarling lips barely a wingtip from mine. "_Answer_."

I pursed my lips, optics shining against the scarred derma of his cheeks. He studied my expression, and, finding no weak point to crack, uttered a humourless chuckle, other hand rising to reach for my right wing. With mocking gentleness, he curled his digits around its tip, his field engulfing the cluster of sensors. My wing flicked by reflex. It bumped into his palm, and roused a sharp gasp from my intakes.

His optics flashed at my reaction. Lips stretching into a smirk, he pulled his fingers toward his palm, and, slowly, tightened his grip.

The pressure began as a throb, but the pain was quick to blossom. It did not stop, worsening with the increasing clench of his hand, until the burn became excruciating, stirring a tremble in my wings. I bit my lips, and swallowed all sound of agony fighting to burst. He squeezed harder. With one audible scrunch, he crushed my wing tip, and my sensors seared my vision white.

My joints stiffened. My lips fell apart. An audial-piercing screech shattered the silence. I screamed, optics stretched fully wide as my back arched from the wall.

I began to thrash anew, tugging on his hand around my neck and pulling away from his persistent grasp around my wing tip. However, everything I did was futile. His fingers stayed right where they are, even when energon started to weep from my wound. He had me trapped, barely able to move. Completely overpowered, I could only squirm against him, the glass of my canopy chafing against the scratched surface of his chassis.

And I—…

I—…

My spark shivered.

…I_ loved _it.

My vents huffed, hips jolting as the forward grinding of his pelvis kept me pinned beneath him.

This sensation of helplessness, suspended without any control over what was to become of my frame…

It excited me.

No matter how much I wanted to deny it.

Desire, heat, arousal.

They crashed through my system, a rush that struck my core until my frame rattled between the hard wall and the unforgiving press of my tormentor.

I stopped my shrieks of pain. My lips remained parted, optics wide.

Coolant prickled the bottom edges of my vision. My joints stuck to rigidity, and an inferno erupted inside me, a wet writhe of heat that warmed and moistened the tight clench of my valve.

"Now, Starscream," He snarled, faceplate a twisted grimace of feral malice. "Ready to comply?"

_To submit?_

I could not respond.

I could not form words.

I stared at him, and let out a shaky groan.

Clearly dissatisfied with my lack of a reply, his expression darkened, shadows creasing with his deepening scowl. "Answer my question, Seeker!" He shouted into my faceplate, and yanked on my injured wing tip, snapping damaged wires and tearing my plating. My sensor-net _burned_, HUD brimmed by an onslaught of red, flashing warnings. Optics flaring offline, I cried out, and gasped in horror as the spastic jerk of my hips loosened my interface panel.

A glob of lubricant dripped out, sliding along the inside of my thigh.

I did not think my joints could freeze any more rigid, but I somehow managed to accomplish such a feat. My optics onlined when my intakes could not hitch in any more breath, and I gaped at Megatron, mouth open with a silent exclamation of dismay. He demanded me again and again to answer his question, each time growing more frustrated and violent. However, I could not utter a single word, fearful that anything I did would somehow bring him to notice the liquid wetting my thighs.

After a while, he stopped, and became silent. He even appeared a little bewildered, and I would have laughed at his expression if I weren't so utterly horror-struck at the prospect of more lubricant oozing past my valve cover. I _begged_ Primus for my lord to overlook the blistering heat swelling from my frame, and the hefty whirr of my cooling fans as they struggled to settle my internal temperature. However, Primus once again proved to be too much of a slagger to take pity on me. I was convinced he was somehow related to my aft of a trine mate when Megatron backed away, frowned, and looked down.

Against anatomical limits, my optics widened further. As though dunked into a tub of ice, I bristled, and instantly started to thrash, desperate little noises spluttering past my lips while I jerked in his grasp.

"No! _No_! Stop!" I squealed in protest, cheek plates flaming with gathering energon. "Stop it! Don't look! _Don't look!_" I fought valiantly, but everything I did was of no use. His hand left my wing tip, and reached for my leg. It hooked under my right knee, and I cried out in alarm, hands slapping over my crotch as he yanked up my leg and spread apart my thighs.

I was too overcome by the bombardment of shock and humiliation to remember offlining my optics would spare me from seeing his expression change from confusion to surprise. The situation might have been hilarious had I not been so intimately involved, as the sight of mighty Megatron stunned and speechless was not one that a Seeker often witnessed. The ex-gladiator took one look at my wet, glistening thighs, and froze still for several long kliks. To my great embarrassment, more lubricant seeped out of the seams. It spread into a tiny, warm puddle on my fingers, as though slicking them for—

I did not dare finish that thought, holding my intakes until my systems overrode my efforts to calm the heat emanating from my swirling spark.

A long silence passed, yet still, no word from Megatron. He seemed to have become entranced by the trails of fluid staining my thighs, optics glowing from the shadow cast by the edge of his helm. His gaze glinted, a sharp glimmer different from the one breems previous. Surprise dissipated altogether. Concentrated intent stood in its place.

Megatron studied me. His hand tightened around the underside of my knee.

"You are aroused." He stated, voice flat and emotionless.

I jerked, a grimace curling my lips. A small whine trickled through my vocalizer, and I tried to turn away, to no avail.

"You become aroused…when I hurt you." He stated again in the same impassive tone. I hissed as though his words burned, and pressed my hands firmer over my crotch.

"Sh-Shut up!" I snapped at him. "And—And stop-…stop _staring_!" I squirmed, turning my faceplate to avoid his optics when they flashed and flickered upwards.

"Is this why you begged me to not hurt you?" He could have been amused, but his mannerism was awfully dry, so I assumed he simply had no tact.

"What? _No!_" I made a face to mask my embarrassment in distaste. "I told you not to hurt me because I didn't want you to hurt me!"

"But you like me hurting you." He said.

I balked.

"No! Th—That's not—"

"Don't lie to me, Starscream." The tyrant pressed forward. His bulk kept my thighs apart, and he leaned into me, until his crotch plate hovered right above my fingers. "Your frame is more honest than your vocalizer." He growled into my audial, sending a shiver of delight down my back-strut.

I wanted to avert my optics, but I could not tear my gaze from his. He was close, so wonderfully close, and his plating was hot, strumming with desire. He was strong, effortlessly in keeping me still and immobile against the wall. His frame was littered with scars, rough and hard to the touch, and he had the most overpowering presence I had ever felt.

He was…so perfect.

Megatron's expression remained stern, jaws firm and lips tilted downward. His optics bore into mine, as though he could see the deepest yearnings of my spark, even the most hidden, and it captivated, yet frightened me at the same time. His thumb brushed against the underside of my knee joint, and my whole frame jerked, intakes hitching with a quiet stutter from my vocalizer.

"I will ask you one last time, Starscream," He murmured, the sound a low rumble from his chassis. "Did you inform Orion Pax of our attack on Tarn?"

His hand slid down a little, along the inner-side of my propped-up thigh. His light caress tickled, and I tensed with a shiver, the motor cables of my hip-joint tugging to squeeze my legs closed. My valve radiated a wet heat, begging to be touched. My resolve crumbled a little in face of its need, and the cover shifted aside, a tiny fraction. My fingers, pressed against my interface panel, stirred the surface sensors. Their proximity made my port convulse with lustful anticipation, eager and desperate to be filled.

"Tell me." Megatron leaned forward, until the tips of our nose bridges touched. His lips were a mere breath from mine, stalling the huffs of my vents, stealing the hitch of my intakes. My optics flickered downward. I bit my own lips as my spark fluttered and craved for him to kiss me. However, I could not move forward to seal our last distance. His grip around my neck cables kept me right where he'd wanted me, no longer constricting but firm.

His voice was soft, barely a whisper. However, it held the commanding might of my lord, wisps of syllables that could clip the flight from my wings if he so wished.

"_Starscream_," His optics were barely a glow, lips a coarse brush against mine, "Tell me the truth."

I could not deny him.

"…I…" My vision offlined, "I did…" I whispered back, brow ridges furrowed, cheek plates burning with energon. "…I told him the time of our attack, so he could escape." I admitted. There was no point in lying if he already knew what I did.

His hand clenched tighter, both around my neck cables and around my thigh. I choked back a most undignified, quiet squeal, and waited for the inevitable onslaught of agony to rain down upon me, but it never came. I could feel his scrutiny on my faceplate. However, he stayed completely still, and I became confused as kliks passed without any act of violence. He wouldn't let a betrayal go unpunished. That would go against his founding principles. I expected him to hurt me, but I could not designate the nature of my anticipation, as it was not entirely fear that quickened the pace of my fuel pump and shook the core of my spark.

I did not dare think on it further, so I stayed equally as still as the ex-gladiator grounding me with his hand around my neck. There would be time to analyze his behaviour later, when I was in no immediate danger of being sent to the med bay again.

The silence broke with a hiss of a deep sigh. The heavy blast of air beat against my flight sensors, and I jumped, optics flashing online when Megatron simply…left.

His hands loosened, and fell away. He pushed off, the press of his frame suddenly absent against my canopy. The heat I had begun to love faded the more the distance between us grew. He walked away, resolve clear in the set of his shoulders, and I watched, speechless while he strode further and further from me.

I gaped. My leg dropped without his support, thruster heel clanging against the floor. I was back on both of my peds, leaning against the wall, but I felt completely uprooted, like the world had stranded me as it turned on its axis. My right wing tip hurt. My systems were still heated. Cooling fans lurching to full activation, my spark scorched, and its churning burn continued to spread while the lubricant staining my thighs dripped along their inside seams.

My neural network was in havoc, sensors stinging from my injury and the lingering feedback of his touch. However, despite the overwhelming blockade of tactile input, one question prioritized over them all.

"What are you—…?!" I spluttered, and gave my helm a hurried shake in incredulous disbelief. "Where are you going?! A-Are you just going to—"

Then, all of a sudden, his behaviour made perfect sense.

Stunned, I watched him walk up to the console.

…The slagger…!

My hands curled into fists.

He _played_ me!

My wings bristled as my chassis heaved.

He pretended to have been interested just so he could get me to do what he wanted! And now, he was—

He would _dare_ to—

"I _demand_ that you to come back here this instant, Megatron! And-And treat me as I deserve!" I shouted, and swung an arm to point at his back. However, my dramatics were lost in effect. He was not even looking at me.

In fact, he didn't seem to be paying attention to me at all, reaching to turn off the files displayed on the screen.

My frame began to tremble, for an entirely different reason than arousal. My lips curled into a furious sneer.

"Don't you _dare_ leave me unsatisfied, you insignificant heap of pit-scrap! Come back here at once!" I used my Crown Prince voice, spitting out an order as if he was a common service attendant.

He made no indication that he heard.

"It would do you well to do as I say, Megatron," I narrowed my optics. "You have no idea what I'm capable of!" I tossed out threat, and tried to sound as convincing as possible, which was a difficult feat for a Seeker as charged as I was.

He continued doing whatever the frag he was doing, not even sparing me a glance.

Desire furled and squirmed deep in my core. My valve clenched, and I flinched, biting back a keen of frustration. Oh to the pits with this. If he wouldn't pay me the attention he should, I'd _give_ him a reason to.

"I don't like to repeat myself, Megatron, and I do not appreciate being treated with such inadequate consideration!" I started to make a scene. "I am your second-in-command and I have needs! You are to _see_ to those needs, you hear me? What kind of a leader are you if you can't even appease your subordinates?!" I yelled. "If you do not do as I say right now, I'm going to make your life a living pit-hole!" Hands on my hips, I took a deep intake, wings high on my back. "I will _not_ be ignored!" I announced, words ringing inside the chamber.

Megatron did exactly what I told him not to, ignoring me as though I was not even in the same room. Vocalizer a snarl, I saw red, rage boiling inside my fuel lines.

"_Megatron_!" I screeched, and stomped one of my thrusters. "You incompetent brute of a fragger—I'm going to overthrow you! You hear that? I'm going to overthrow you and become the new leader of the Decepticons!" I shrieked at his back. "As the Crown Prince of Vos, I am at the very least your equal. In fact, I have every right to outrank you! It's about time you acknowledged that! S-So—…Come back here and finish what you started! _Now_! That's an order!" I flung my fists down to my sides, and screamed at him, wings a peevish twitch despite the sharp jabs of pain their animated jerking caused.

Megatron snapped his helm around, expression a thunderstorm of rage. He turned from the console, and strode toward me, thudding pedfalls echoing the blunt force of his approach. His shoulders rolled as he walked, thick fingers digging into his palms. "Finish what I started, Starscream?" He snarled, optics twin suns crackling sparks around their edges. "Don't _tempt_ me." He spat out, vents in a roar and dentae gritted.

I almost startled. However, before I could muster alarm, he came closer, and bent down.

I jolted in surprise.

Was he actually going to _kneel_—

His shoulder collided against my abdominal plating. His right arm grabbed my legs by the knee joints, and, with a heave, he swept me off the floor, draping me over his shoulder. I panicked, and frantically scrambled for balance, a yelp falling past my lips. He never paused for a klik. I could not see where he was going, stunned to silence as he carried me across the chamber.

Snapping out of my shock, I started to shriek, throwing punches and kicking my peds in hopes to clonk him on the helm.

"What in the pits do you think you're doing?!" I cried out, pushing at him in attempts to dislodge his arm around my knees. "Let go of me, you—you glitched waste of existence! Let me go!"

He did not respond, continuing his walk toward whatever destination he had in his obviously deranged mind. I kept struggling, and attempted to elbow him on the back of his helmet. He stopped only once, for a brief moment, and a small beep followed his temporary halt. There was a soft "whoosh", and an exclamation of "Slag!". Before I could wrap my processors around what was happening, we passed the threshold of the throne room, and entered the hall.

Wh—What the frag…?

I froze, optics stretching wide.

Was he planning on _parading_ me through the entire base like this, aft up and thighs glistening for all to see?!

Horrified beyond all thought and reason, I started to struggle in earnest, thrashing and beating at his back with my fists. "Put me down, Megatron! _Put me down_!" I screamed, thrusters sputtering as I flung my limbs about.

Megatron let out a curt grunt, and stopped dead in his tracks. With a brisk shove of his shoulder, he threw me down, and sent me pummeling to the floor. A sharp cry on my vocalizer, I fell. Instead of cold, dense flooring, however, my back and wings hit another mech.

Careless of the one beneath me, I steadied myself, and pushed up into a sitting position. Lord Slagger stood over me, features saturated with distaste and contempt. I sneered back, and readied to give him a verbal lashing of his lifetime. However, before I could, he beat me to it, ridding me of even a sliver of satisfaction.

"You are ridiculous." He stated, and turned around, retreating into the throne room instead of facing my wrath like the cowardly fragger that he was. The doors slid closed behind him, and, for several kliks, I could only gape at the two flat panes of metal, incredulity and disbelief battling against the fury waiting to burst through my spark.

"…Aaaarrgh—!" With a wordless cry of sheer rage, I leapt onto my peds, and threw myself against the door. When it would not budge no matter how many times I entered my override, I punched and kicked at their surfaces as though Megatron himself could feel my inflicting attacks, screaming and screeching every profane vocabulary I could conjure from my data banks.

After a long tirade of angry shrieking and swearing revenge, I gave the doors one last kick, and turned around to see just whom Megatron had used as my cushion. Skywarp was still sitting on his aft, gawking at me with the perfect expression of idiocy that only an idiot of his caliber could manage.

"What are you looking at?!" I shouted down at him, scowl pronounced on my faceplate.

"Uhhhh—W-Well—" He answered like the intelligent individual that he was, and I scoffed, crossing my arms over my chassis in obvious superiority.

"Were you _eavesdropping_?" I snapped, and curled my lips in disdain when my trine mate squirmed under my glare, and rubbed the back of his helm.

"I was just worried." He grumbled, and tried to shrug it off as nonchalant, though his optics darted about in apparent nervousness. "Not that it made any difference. I couldn't hear a thing."

Good, I secretly heaved a sigh of relief.

"…What the slag are you still doing on the floor? Get up!" I grew annoyed with his shuffling, and sent out a huff as he scrambled to stand. "Teleport me back to my recharge chambers." I instructed, and grabbed his hand.

Skywarp looked at my optics, then our joined hands, and back to my optics again, jaw-hinges loose and lips hanging open like a drooling imbecile. My ventilation stalled. I could have combusted into flames with how quickly my anger flared.

"_What_?!" I yelled, and he winced at my piercing pitch, faceplate scrunching into a grimace.

"Star…" The purple idiot glanced at my right wing tip. "What about your wing? You need to see Pristinus to get it fixed! I mean, doesn't it hur—"

My optics narrowed, and my fingers squeezed around his until he yelped in pain.

"Skywarp…" I growled in warning, "_Now_!"

Skywarp jumped, and immediately activated his teleportation drive.

The klik after, we were back in my recharge chamber. I hissed an order for Skywarp to leave me alone, and, with an expression I was too impatient to read, he complied without fuss, disappearing with a puff of purple smoke. With only silence as my company, I stood in the middle of my quarters. My cooling fans ran overdrive. My vents sent out surges of heat. My intakes hitched in gulps of cold air, and my frame trembled, most prominently in my arms and wings.

My spark swelled, its swirling turbulent. My core burned, spreading pulsating waves of charge throughout my frame. Arousal has not left me, coiling deep in my gut, whiplashes of need against my sensory network. My valve squeezed, smoldering and slick with a thick layer of lubricant coating its soft, inner walls.

Almost reflexively, my thighs gave a spasm. The panel to my port snapped open with a loud "click", and the gathering lubricant washed down my thighs in thin trickles.

I whimpered, and almost buckled when cool air hit the sensitized rim of my valve. Walking on shaky peds, I dimmed the lighting of my chambers with a hasty comm., and climbed onto my berth. Drenched in darkness, I lied down on my back, and stared at the ceiling. Hands trailing down along my chassis, my abdomen, I parted my thighs, fingers shivering as I tentatively gave the rim of my valve a light, circling rub.

Pleasure seared through my system. My joints seized in tension, and I cried out, processors reeling from the rising charge bolting through my frame. I repeated the gesture, back arcing, and coated my fingers in my own fluid. I traced the outer sensor nodes. It felt so good. They almost stung, and my valve gave a responding clench, desperate to be satiated.

Enough play. With a soft moan, I spread my thighs wider apart, and pressed one of my digits against the yielding, smooth folds of my valve. It slid inside easily, aided by the sticky mess of lubricant. The motion stimulated a string of sensors along my inner wall. I let out a cry, helm thrown back as my wings clattered beneath me against my berth.

With one smooth stroke, I plunged my finger inside to the hilt. It wasn't enough. I added another, the tight heat of my interface port kneading the digits.

I sank them in as deep as they could go, and pulled them back out, stroking the sinewy inside of my valve. I started to thrust, the motion stirring the weighty heat in my groin. The pace quickened. It stuttered the panting of my vents. High whimpers shuddering past my vocalizer, I added a third finger, and watched them slide inside me, stretching the hot, wet lining.

The quiet, sticky squish of my fingers repeatedly plunging into my yearning port sounded loud in the room. The sight was so wanton, even more so than the roaring of my cooling fans and my cries. I bucked on my berth, wings rattling against its surface. The charge was building, speeding toward the peak, and I spat out swearwords, frame quavering and peds curling against my thighs.

Thrusting my fingers faster and deeper, I whined, and tossed my helm to the side, biting my downer lip component as I stroked my outer sensors with my other hand. The pleasure was mounting. My vents stalled. Just a little more. My frame grew rigid. Oh _please_ just a little more and I would reach that unbearable height where senses toppled and sung with stinging, agonizing euphoria that filled my valve to the brim with utter _bliss_—

I could not reach my ceiling node.

I could not reach it, and it frustrated me like a punch in the faceplate from the Unmaker. I let out a wail, and pulled my thighs higher in attempts to allow my fingers more access. However, it was impossible. I knew it was impossible. This was hardly the first time I self-serviced.

Primus frag-it. This was why I did not like to self-service. Every single time, I had to settle with stroking my lower sensors until my systems became so taxed that they broke under the strain to overload. This was so unfair. I wanted to cry. I was the only Seeker in Vos who could not frag whoever he wanted to, and I was not even sparked with long enough fingers to give myself relief. Whimpering and whining and making a spectacle of myself on my berth, I gritted my dentae, and thrust my fingers at a rougher speed. Overload was one single brush away, yet I could not reach it.

Just as I was about to give up and resign to my fate, a thought flashed across my processors. It was the most brilliant idea I have ever come up with in my entire function:

The stimulation rod!

Primus bless Pristinus and all of his ancestor units. I scrambled off my berth and rushed to the drawer so quickly that I managed to retrieve the object in less than five kliks. Plunking myself back onto my berth, I parted my thighs, and slid it inside me with one smooth push of my fingers.

Slag.

I winced.

That kind of hurt.

The rod stretched my valve. Pristinus had not lied about it being a snug fit. Its girth was thicker than my three fingers, and it reached deeper, where my port had not been prepared for penetration. Regardless, the way its blunt tip sat right against my ceiling node made all the dull throb flutter to dissipation. As nervousness and anticipation battled within my swollen spark, I reached for the round button at its base, and pressed down with a shaky hand.

Vibration crashed through my systems like a hurricane. I jumped, and shrieked, frame convulsing into overload as my ceiling node was stroked and rubbed. Coherency blown away by sensory input, I thrashed and choked on my cries while the rod assaulted every sensors inside me, buzzing and shaking and relentless and—

"-Oh frag! _Oh frag_!" I squealed, bucking from my berth, helm tossing side to side. "Oh frag—yes! Yes! _Yes—!_" My vocalizer strained, but I was too far gone to care. Coolant fell along the sides of my faceplate. I gasped for air, sensory receptors overwhelmed and screaming with bliss.

My overload ebbed, but I wanted more. Limbs trembling, I forced myself to flip over, and settled onto my knees. The rod continued to vibrate inside my valve, rousing a whimper from my vocalizer. Curling an arm before my helm, I buried my faceplate into my berth, and reached back with my other hand.

Aft high in the air, I wrapped my fingers around the base of the rod. I dragged it out of my clenching port, a violent shudder quaking through my frame. With no patience for teasing strokes, I plunged it back in, and set a fast, brutal pace. Its tip dug into my ceiling node, and I cried out, hips meeting the thrusts with equal fervor.

The girth of the rod had become comfortable. It left a loud buzz in the air. The noise was terrible, absolutely shaming and humiliating, but it only excited me, flares of heat and desire stoking my need. I bit my dentae, and sped up the thrusts. Cries muffled, I offlined my optics, vents huffing in bursts of scalding air that misted the glass of my canopy.

Heavy, large hands gripped my hips. Rough fingers clutched me so tightly that they left minor dents on my softer, pliable plating. Yes. That was what he would do. He would growl, grunts deep and harsh, right on par with the desperate motions of our coupling.

He would slam into me, the hard plating of his hips smacking against mine. His spike was hot and thick, strumming with energy inside my valve, friction made slick by lubricant that would coat his crotch-plate. Megatron would be a far tighter fit inside my valve than the stimulation rod, and I had no doubt in my processors that it would hurt like the pits should he thrust into me the same manner as how I was shoving the rod into myself. However, just the thought alone, of having him striking me deep in the core, excited me more than anything I have ever imagined. A guttural cry ground past my lips, and I sped up, fat drops of fluid splattering onto my thigh as the rod drove into my ceiling node.

I was close, very close. My wings hiked up completely on my back, almost perpendicular in angle. They trembled in the air, in time with every plunge of the buzzing stimulator. In my fantasy, Megatron clenched tighter around my hips. He raised a hand, and slapped me hard on the perk of my aft, tearing a loud yelp from my vocalizer as my intakes hissed in pain.

"_Say my designation, Starscream._" He would snarl his command, words a malicious grit through his dentae. "_Say the designation of your lord!_"

I would stubbornly refuse, and try to twist out of his hand clamped around my hip despite how futile I knew it was. His grip would not waver, and keep me exactly where he wanted me. He would hit me again, harder this time, and again and again until I was rendered nothing more than a sobbing mess beneath him, begging him to stop and pleading for more at the same time until my plating stung to even the gentlest of caresses. He would pinch my wing tips, and clutch the top edges of my fluttering appendages. He would slam me back into his thrusts, demand that I scream for him alone, and I could shudder, port weeping in pleasure against the blistering slide of his spike.

"_Say my designation!_" He would bellow, vents roaring with heat, the bucking of his hips feral and cruel. "_Say my designation._" The charge rose inside me. "_And announce to the world who had claimed your wings and wrenched you from skies!_"

"M-Megatron!" His name fell from my trembling lips. "Megatron!" I offlined my optics, hand scratching at my berth as coolant streamed down my cheekplates.

I wanted him.

_Primus_, I wanted him so much.

My spark swelled, brimming my spark chamber until the sweltering, writhing heat inside me began to spill. It lashed out in bursts, stiffening the arc of my back.

"_Louder._" Megatron growled. "_Louder!_" He pounded into me, never minding the shrieks ripped from my lips.

"Megatron!" My vocalizer spat static from my screams. "_Megatron!_" I took his blows with complete abandon. They felt so good. So damned good.

The charge was rising, building far beyond even the most overtaking of overloads I have ever experienced. I did not think my systems could take much more. I shook my helm, and let out a strained, high-pitched cry, clenching around the stimulation rod as it battered against my ceiling node.

"P-Please—! More! _More_!" I begged, movements frantic and spastic, trying to match his violent thrusts. He was close as well, fingers digging grooves into the thin plating of my wings as he pounded into me even faster, loud grunts abrasive against my auditory receptors.

"_Overload, Starscream._" He snarled. "_Do it. For your lord!_" The tip of his spike struck mercilessly into the very core of my valve. The wet slide of ridges. The thickness filling my port. My sensors stung, and I could only find the coherency to do as he demanded, because, at that moment, I _belonged_ to him.

I was _his_.

Entirely.

Without a doubt—

The deepest, most _bare_ of my utter, desperate yearning that had completely and thoroughly _consumed_ me.

"M-Megatron!"

I could feel it, the spasms quavering through my core, ripples of energy trembling through every neural cluster of my sensory web.

"O-oooh yes—Megatron!"

My processors blared in warnings, but I could no longer recognize them, entire frame rattling from my fanatic movements.

I started to shake, eager and fearful and craving and terrified as the crackling, thrashing ball of heat finally tapped into its climax, and combusted with a single beat against the center of my core.

White erupted over my vision.

The tip of the stimulation rod struck my ceiling node, and my valve clenched, pleasure like a supernova blasting through my system.

My lips fell apart. I screamed, vocalizer glitching to spurts of static as it became overwhelmed by the peak of my passion. The overload smashed into me like a cyclone, spirals of unbearable heat and a force I was helpless to fight against. I thrashed, breaking out in violent spasms. Energy soared through my neural lines, and my systems reeled in over-stimulation, leaving me a wailing, flailing mess on my berth.

"Megatron! Megatron—!" I sobbed, coolant washing down my faceplate much like the lubricant squirting out of my valve, staining my thighs and my berth. It became too much to keep the rod pressed deep inside me, and I whimpered, trying to scoot away.

But Megatron would not spare me even the last kliks of this sweet, beautiful torture. He would remain sheathed inside me, the tip of his spike snug against my ceiling node, and force me to _endure_ until the very last stream of energy from my overload released. His warm transfluid would flood my port, and ooze past its rim to slide down along my thighs, leaving tracks in the smear of my lubricant. I would endure all that, and shiver, soft, hitching cries of pleas leaving my lips as I reach behind to wrap a trembling hand around his, and give it a tight squeeze…

The stimulation rod slid out of my valve, and dropped onto the surface of my berth with a quiet, wet plop. My fingers shook as they rubbed my over-sensitized valve, and tried to soothe the excruciating burn left over from my overload. Completely spent and sated, it took all of my willpower to flip over to lay my back. Optics still offlined, I felt around for the interface toy, and grabbed it turn it off, ending its insistent buzz.

I soaked in the afterglow of my release, drowsy and exhausted. I onlined my optics, and stared at the ceiling, canopy heaving still as my ventilation system worked. I was lying in a mess of my own fluids, but I simply could not muster up enough strength to care. My processors were starting to slow. Perhaps I shouldn't have stressed my frame so soon after my recovery. I wondered, the thought a lazy loop in my mind, what Pristinus would say if he caught me not heeding his medical advice.

Oh well.

I spluttered out a sigh.

At least he would be pleased that I had used his gift to its full potential.

Not that he would ever find out, of course.

Too tired to clean up, I simply laid on my berth, and offlined my optics. My sensor grid took its time to recover from my overload. It did not even register the dull throb from my still injured wingtip. My thoughts slowed. My spark spun in satisfaction. Within kliks, I fell into recharge, for once blissfully free of any duty-bound pressure of being sovereign to a city in the midst of a raging war.

At peace, I rested. The last sliver of my fantasy lingered, of a warm frame next to mine, holding me close, pressing me against a scarred, thick-plated chassis beneath which pulsed a passionate spark.

I felt a smile tug at my lips, but I did not know if it formed.

I was happy.

For once, this despicable desire of mine did not bring me pain.

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><p><strong>Notes:<strong> Ohhh goodness, this chapter. Phew! For an update that's mostly humorous and naughty, it took quite a long time to edit. XD

Pristinus means well. He's a good medic.

Hope you enjoyed this treat~ -wink-

Special thanks time once again to the loveliest bunch I've had the absolute pleasure of receiving feedback from: _Patched-up Matryoshka_, _Random523_, _VyxenSkye_, _Cannonade_, _Sneer_, _ladyredvelvet_, _Sushi darling_ (smooch~), _6MissSparbklez9_, _Devlinn Reiko_, _Kira michi_, _Borath_, _Ashcola17_, _toby_, _tiedwithribbons_, _TammyCat_, _Eiswolf-Zero_, _extension-cord_, _prismadecepticons_, _MalevolentMask_, _Curious1here_, _Krazed Jetformer_, _The-writing-Mew_, _Guest 1_, _Xeta_, _Guest 2_, _avisshadow26939_, _Al_, _april_, _starscreamfancypants_, _crazylady_, _DeceptivelyGood_, and _Guest 3_. You guys are the sweetest! And I wholeheartedly appreciate your support after all this time, especially when I've been unforgivably lazy with updates.

I think this is actually the first time Megatron turned Starscream's tricks against him. That Seeker isn't the only one who knows how to use his appeal in his favour, as it would appear, haha! Thanks once again for sticking with this story, and sorry for this chapter's lateness! Hopefully its content made the wait worth it. Sometimes it's such a gamble.

Please leave me a review if you have the time. I'd love to hear from you, as always. :)


	24. XXV

Disclaimer: Haha, I _wish_ I owned!

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><p>XXV<p>

Devastation beyond repair was the only way to describe the cities fallen under Decepticon rule. Within meta-cycles, half of Cybertron was overrun by the joint forces of Kaon and Vos, left uninhabitable by civilians. Megatron exhibited yet another cruel, sadistic streak for violence one could even call art. He no longer cared if anyone lived to join his ranks, only that everything burned to the ground. The very few who did manage to survive were the only ones he deemed worthy of his cause. Rumours of his madness whispered amongst my fliers. However, contrary to my soldiers, they fueled the bloodlust of his Decepticons.

Megatron changed after the failed overtaking of Tarn. I did not know what had set the change in motion, only that he began to distance himself from me, demeanor cold and aloof. Yet stranger was the fact that he has stopped hitting me, no matter my impudence and insubordination. He settled on punishments instead, heaps of boring data pad work for minor transgressions, and putting me through atrociously creative hard labour tasks whereas before, prior to Tarn, he would have preferred to slap me around. He continued to train with his subordinates, but he no longer held back, stopping only when his opponent was one ped into deactivation. The numbers of mechs brave or foolish enough to keep volunteering to fight him was countable on one hand, while others tried to avoid him even in the halls.

At first, I thought his change was temporary. He was very displeased with the Autobots scapegoating the Decepticons for the loss of Cybertron's energon reserves. Our enemy was terrified of our advances, willing to do anything to turn the war in their favour, to encourage civilians in flocking under their banner. This disgusted many, but Megatron was especially repulsed. I had assumed he was simply acting out of anger. However, his unrelenting resolve of killing everything in his path continued even after it became apparent that he no longer cared about the lies the Autobots told. Eventually, I knew this new turn of character was here to stay.

Not that I particularly _cared_ about what was going on in his processors. We were winning, and that was what was important. Between my duties and the many battles waiting to be fought, I hardly had any time to dwell on our relationship. However, as I sat on my throne with Sunstorm in my lap, I could not help but wonder about the ex-gladiator.

Nightfire was reporting something or another about the second testing phase for the west quadrant of the labyrinth. Stormstrike added comments whenever they were needed, but he was curt and brief. I was not the only one impatient for my science advisor to finish. The war was forefront in everyone's processors, so listening to the Space Shuttle go on and on about shifting walls was a bit aggravating. Sunstorm chirped as he played with his toy. He tugged at my fingers to garner my attention, and I smiled, giving the sparkling a gentle rub between his wings.

The tiny Seeker made a high-pitched, delighted squeal. His little wing-nubs flicked up and down while he beamed up at me with wide, sparkling optics.

"Your Highness, would you like me to stop?" Nightfire's voice betrayed no emotion, but his expression clearly spoke of how offended he was that I was so blatantly ignoring him in favour of playing with Sunstorm. I did not respond right away, sparing my Space Shuttle friend a brief glance. It was very amusing, how all my generals' wings perked up in hope upon my science advisor's inquiry.

Even old Bladeflight appeared to be having trouble with waiting for Nightfire's report to finish.

"Skip the details, Nightfire. Just tell me how the labyrinth is doing since its rebuild." I answered, and cupped a hand behind Sunstorm to prevent him from falling off my knee.

Nightfire let out a quiet sigh, a small lapse in his impeccable manners. "While there _are_ minor complications, as a whole, Sire, the labyrinth is back to full functionality." He bowed, indicating the end to his report, and I gave him a small wave, dismissing him from my attention.

My generals came forth one by one. They kept me updated on the status of my army. The troops were learning new maneuvers devised for the next upcoming battle. They were complicated, interwoven between teams and trines. They required coordination between all three military frame types, resulting in training sessions Vos has never seen before: Striker Jets, Fighters, and Seekers in the sky together, vital maneuvers in our next attack to preserve the cultural worth of the city.

Praxus, home to the infamous Helix Gardens, was our next target. Megatron had every intention of crushing it to the ground like every city we had conquered thus far, but I managed to persuade him to exempt the more monumental features of the city from flames. Praxus was the only grounder city I saw a sliver of value in. It housed the main historic Archive of Cybertron. It was notorious for being the sparking place of many Cybertronian artists. Once every vorn, mechs from all over the planet gathered there, to showcase their new works and accomplishments in a deca-long conference designated as The Assembly of Arts, which showered the city in splendor and beauty. Painters, poets, musicians, architects, philosophers – Many of the most prestigious were regular attendees in this celebration of Cybertronian culture. Even scientists were invited, being amongst those who brought creations into our world.

Prior to the complete closure of Vos, many fliers participated in the Assembly, and a greater number went just to see the spectacle of eccentric mechs gathered at one place. However, after my city became contained, very little of my citizens made the trip anymore. The last notable news I heard from the conference had been about the artist Sunstreaker punching a service attendant in the faceplate for accidentally spilling energon on his paintjob. The channels were more interested in dramatics than the arts nowadays.

Ramjet finished his report, signaling the end of morning court. A few words later, I gave a collective dismissal, and waited for my advisors to leave. Many did, but two remained. Thundercracker had recently taken a habit of walking me to my next appointment, and Ramjet remained, I presumed, to play with Sunstorm. The white Conehead developed a great fondness toward my adopted sparkling. To my surprise, Sunstorm actually reciprocated.

"Sunstorm, come here!"

My guess had been correct. In an instance, Ramjet's expression changed from formal and serious to cheerful and stupid. His optics sparkled, and he put on the most exaggerated grin I have ever seen. He clapped his hands, and spread his arms wide open in a gesture of invitation. Sunstorm chirped back, and looked up at me, waiting for permission to go to the Conehead.

I gave a curt nod. Sunstorm took off from my knee, and let out a happy squeal as he flew toward Ramjet. The sparklet flung himself around my general's canopy, and hugged the curved glass with his toy squished between their frames. Ramjet laughed. He wrapped his hands around the tiny Seeker, and patted his small back, rubbing his wing joints with a digit. Sunstorm squirmed. He giggled when the Conehead tickled his abdominal plates.

"Despite seeing this display well over enough times to not be surprised, I'm still amazed that _Ramjet_ of all Seekers has taken such a strong liking for sparklings." Thundercracker shook his helm with an incredulous smile, and watched with great interest as Ramjet tossed Sunstorm into the air and caught him as he fell back down.

"Yeah," I settled into a casual lounge on my throne, one I would have never allowed had I not been in the company of fliers I knew well. "Who would've guessed that a slagger like Ramjet can be good with sparklings?"

"Starscream!" Thundercracker swung his helm around with a big gape on his faceplate. "Don't say words like that in front of a sparkling! What if Sunstorm learned?"

"What if he did?" I shrugged. "He's going to learn it eventually."

Thundercracker pursed his lips. He crossed his arms over his chassis. Oh slag. I tensed. He was entering his creator mode. I had best mediate the situation if I did not want a full-on lecture about how to bring up a sparkling.

"—But of course I will take your advice into consideration, Thundercracker." I hurried to speak on, and straightened in my seat to look more mature and sophisticated. "Besides, I don't think Sunstorm heard. He's too busy playing with Ramjet."

Ramjet was playing tag with Sunstorm in the Grand Hall, hiding behind pillars and hollering dramatically when the sparkling rounded up on him. The Conehead purposely floated at a slow speed, and plastered the most ridiculous expressions of shock onto his faceplate when Sunstorm managed to wrap his little arms around him.

"How is it that you are so small yet can fly so fast?" Ramjet put on a pout, and Sunstorm giggled some more, clutching his toy with one hand and holding onto Ramjet with the other. A large grin breaking his sulk, the general descended, and touched down on the floor. Just as he wrapped a perch under the sparkling, Sunstorm looked up with his round, shiny optics, and blurted out:

"Slagger!"

My optics flew wide. Thundercracker gasped in horror. Ramjet froze, unsure if he had heard right.

"Slagger! Slagger!" Sunstorm called out happily, hugging and nuzzling against Ramjet's canopy. "Slagger slagger!"

At first, no one understood Sunstorm's repetitive exclamations of the curse word. However, as he rubbed his cheekplate against the Conehead's cockpit glass, it suddenly struck me.

Oh Primus…

My wings began to tremble as hilarity bubbled from my vocalizer.

Sunstorm has identified Ramjet as "slagger"!

My vents spluttered. I burst into loud, hackling laughter, and wrapped my arms around my abdomen, curling up on my throne. Ramjet's cheekplates flushed in an instance. They glowed, matching the gape in his widened optics.

"Starscream! This isn't funny!" Thundercracker's scolding voice reached my audials, but it left little effect. "You can't encourage Sunstorm's behaviour by laughing your af—y-your _posterior_ off!" My trine mate's stumble only made me laugh harder, wings twitching on my back.

Oh this was _glorious_. I tried to rein myself in, but every time I glanced in Ramjet's direction, I ended up bursting into laughter once more. The Conehead looked downright devastated, completely at loss as to what to do with the sparkling in his arms, who remained eager and joyful snuggled against his canopy.

"…What the frag, Starscream?! What in the pits did you teach him?" The general snapped out of his shocked daze, and glared up at me, a scowl on his features.

Giggling and vents in stutters, I beamed with a mischievous, mirthful grin. "I didn't teach him anything, my dearest Conehead." I purred, and gave the fuming Seeker a teasing wink. "Sunstorm is simply smart enough to see you for what you are."

As if noting an unspoken cue, Sunstorm chirped up again with the word. Oh to the pits with composure. I was certain I was going to blow a fuse from how much I was laughing. Thundercracker looked like he'd fried a circuit, gawking at the tiny Seekerlet. A long moment later, he shook his helm, and covered his faceplate with an upturned palm, groaning and muttering about a helm ache.

After more hysterics at Ramjet's expense, I left my Grand Hall for my next meeting. The white Conehead volunteered to drop off Sunstorm at his nursery, and we parted ways after much tear-shedding from the small Seekerling. Sunstorm hated being separated from me, but there were duties I had to tend to not for sparkling optics or audials. I tried my best to make it up to him by allowing him to stay with me through the night cycle. However, even those instances were rare, as I needed undisturbed recharge, and sparklings were fussy.

The first half of the cycle passed without much excitement. I had a sip of energon, and made my way to the topmost flight deck to meet up with my trine mates and Nightfire. We were to be teleported to a mining outpost that the Decepticons had recently secured. It was one of the few dig sites that continued to produce energon crystals, which made it especially valuable. The Autobots fought to their very last mechs to keep it. They perished guarding their posts. Under normal circumstances, even the mere thought of fliers going to see a mine was ridiculous at best. However, with new technology from Vos stationed within it for better efficiency, Nightfire and I had to make a trip to oversee its progress, to make sure none of the grounders had damaged it by doing something stupid.

By the time I arrived at the flight deck, both of my trine mates were already there, conversing with Nightfire. Well, it wasn't much of a conversation. They were staring at the Space Shuttle while he talked on and on about his projects. Thundercracker was at least polite enough to pretend he understood, nodding every once in a while with a thoughtful expression on his faceplate. Skywarp had tuned off completely, gaping blankly into space, optics dazed and jaw-joints slack.

"Star!" The purple idiot spotted me faster than both of his companions. "You're here!" He visibly perked up, and waved as though I was on the other side of Vos, grin brighter than a sun.

"Yes, I am." I answered in a dry tone. "How well-observed."

Skywarp did not seem to notice the sarcasm in my comment, bouncing on his peds as he waited for me to approach them. He must have been extremely bored with Nightfire's science talk if even jabs at his lack of intelligence did not annoy him.

Thundercracker and Nightfire turned upon Skywarp's happy exclamations. Stepping back to stand beside each other, they bowed in acknowledgement of my arrival. "All hail Prince Starscream." They offered proper greetings, while Skywarp only beamed.

"All ready t'go?" My purple trine mate asked after I nodded at my advisors to rise.

"Obviously," I replied curtly, and held out my hand. "Let's get this over with."

Skywarp reached for my hand, and grabbed Thundercracker by the arm. He motioned at Nightfire to come forward to hold onto him. However, before we could leave, a voice called out, stalling us.

"Wait, Your Highness! Wait!" A succession of quick and light pedfalls followed. A small-sized flier was running toward us. Nightfire sidestepped, and Pristinus came into view, waving. He arrived before us, and offered an apologetic smile.

"Sorry for keeping you, Sire." He nodded a slight bow. "I wondered if I can come with you to the mines."

Whatever I'd expected my medic to say, that had not been it. My optics widened a little, and I frowned.

"There's nothing particularly interesting at the mines, Pristinus, especially for a medic."

"I understand, your Majesty." Pristinus dipped his helm, a polite smile still tugging at his lips. "It's just that I heard the Decepticons are building another converter, which means that the Constructicons must be there. I would like to speak to the medic, Hook, if you would permit me to."

"Why do you want to speak to Hook?" I asked more out of curiosity than distaste, and tilted my helm.

"I've seen his work on some of our fliers who'd returned from battle." The Stealth Jet explained. "They were hasty field patches, but they were done well. I thought it would be beneficial for us if I were to educate him on the repairs of flier frame types."

"Are you sure?" My frown deepened. "In doing so, a ground pounder would come to intimately know the inner-workings of fliers. I'm not sure if that's a good idea."

"He's a _medic_, Sire." Pristinus looked rather surprised at my implications. "If he had taken the Oath, he would not use his knowledge for anything but medical purposes." When I remained unconvinced, my medic pressed, "It would be greatly rewarding for us to have another medic trained to help our soldiers, your Highness. Hook has managed adequate repairs on our Jets and Seekers without previous flier-frame medical knowledge. I believe he is very gifted. He can become a great asset in the future under the right guiding hands."

I still did not like the idea of Hook learning about us, but Pristinus's argument was sound. With a reluctant sigh, I nodded, and told him to latch onto Skywarp.

With a "pop", Vos faded away. Our thrusters touched rough terrain as new surroundings appeared around us. I parted from Skywarp, and looked around, taking in the scenery. There was not much for one's optics to feast upon, only large industrial buildings with the most depressing gray I have ever seen.

Walls stripped of their paint, bare, with rust spots spreading web-like patterns at their corners. Flood lights, charged by electricity, shined down from above. They illuminated the factory sector with cold, white light, washing bleak all that scurried under them with blinding intensity. Even the mechs on the level beneath us, carrying carts of energon crystals to the chutes, were rendered mere shadows with colourless frames.

The air was sour. It itched my flight sensors. I made a face, already wishing I was elsewhere.

We'd arrived on a platform, overlooking the outpost. There were ground pounders around us. Several noticed our arrival, and gave us lengthy looks. To my surprise, they did not leer with inappropriate intentions or otherwise, faceplate devoid of expressions as they watched us, optics a faint glow. I felt as though I had finally found the answer to Megatron's usual air of indifference. If this was where he stayed prior to Kaon, I'm surprised he still had the capacity to feel.

Everywhere was dull, a terrain of flat gray. There was nothing beautiful to look at, nothing to ease the tedium of repetitive labour. The workers lumbered around without motivation, the only film of colour on their frames being of the purple glow cast from the energon crystals in the carts they carried. "This place is awfully depressing." Nightfire murmured, and gave the grounders still watching us wary glances.

Being the largest flier of our group, he instinctually took on the protective role, stepping closer to block us from the view of peering optics. Pristinus responded to the Space Shuttle's comment with a curt nod, but he did not speak, merely wrapping his arms around himself. The medic scanned our surroundings, lips pursed and brow-ridges in a frown. I could only assume he was not at all impressed with the many safety hazards glaring from all direction in the area.

"How can anyone stay at a place like this?" Thundercracker whispered, scooting closer toward Skywarp. "I heard miners rarely leave the outposts, but what do they _do_ here? For processor stimulation."

"You don't need to do a lot of thinking to dig, TC." Skywarp answered, and patted our blue trine mate on the back to soothe the agitated perk in his wings. "B'sides, that's the whole point: the Autobots don't _want_ you to think. If they could replace you with drones, they would."

"And they _did_." Another voice joined our conversation. I turned around, followed by my fliers, and found the source of the voice, a mech in a small huddle of workers. They were sitting in a circle, crowding around a few cubes of stale looking energon. With a start, I realized that this platform was probably a place of recreation, for miners to gather and relax during their breaks. There was not much here to enjoy, but the air was cooler, and they could catch a view of the sky.

"What do you mean?" Thundercracker asked, brow ridges knitting.

"Miners have been getting booted outta mines for metas now." The same grounder spoke, uttering a low grunt with his vents. "We were next, y'know. But the Decepticons took over, so we stayed." He tried to shrug, but a screech of grinding gears stopped him. He flinched, faceplate scrunching into a grimace of pain, and he cursed, rubbing the junction between his neck cables and his shoulder with the other hand.

"What's wrong?" Pristinus asked, optics flashing a sharp, keen glint.

The grounder shook his helm. "It's nothing." He snorted.

"It's clearly not 'nothing'." Pristinus's voice gained a hard edge, and his wings arced higher on his back. He had identified the grounder as a stubborn patient. I shared a worried look with Nightfire, wondering if I should stop my medic before he annoyed the miners.

"_Told_ you it's _nothing_." The mech growled before taking a swig of his cube and sending Pristinus a glare. "Mind your own business. I don't care where you're from, but here, unless you deactivate, it's nothing."

To my alarm, Pristinus's expression morphed to shock and sadness, as though a tiny crick in a nameless ground pounder's neck had the capacity to devastate him. Before any of us could grab a hold on his arm, he slipped away, and strolled toward the grounders.

Workers on the platform stopped conversing in hushed voices, and started to watch. My medic made his way to the group his identified patient was sitting with, and politely asked the other mechs to move so he could slide by. The other grounders were clearly too surprised to protest, so they did what he wanted without hassle. They openly gaped when the Stealth Jet approached the miner who had spoken to us, and knelt down before him on one knee.

The grounder straightened, and leaned back. He stared at Pristinus with great suspicion, lips pressed together into a downward line. However, he did not move beyond putting his cube of energon down beside him, and allowed my medic to settle before him, between his knees.

"May I?" Pristinus asked, voice gentle and soft, and the grounder, after a moment of internal deliberation, mutely nodded.

There was a small buzz. Pristinus activated his medical scan, the smooth pane of glass over his left optic flashing online. He took readings of the grounder's neck and shoulder, silent as he analyzed the data. With a small hum and a brief nod to himself, he stopped his scans, and reached forward to give the miner's shoulder a small tap.

"Something got caught in your joints, right at this point here." My medic explained. "Based on the weld marks on your plating, you were treated for an impact injury, weren't you?"

The grounder's optics grew a little wider. He made another mute nod.

Pristinus hummed, and nodded in return. "This little complaint definitely won't deactivate you, but, with time, it may inhibit the movement of your arm," The Stealth continued. "By my professional opinion, I would suggest for you to receive proper medical care right away, to uproot the problem before it begins. I can help you with that if you want. It's not a difficult fix. However, I completely understand if you'd feel more comfortable with your own medic, in which case I will leave you on your way."

The grounder was silent. For a long time, he studied my medic's faceplate, distrust apparent in his scrutinizing gaze. However, he seemed to have decided that he's already pushed his discomfort off for too long, and relented with a curt nod. "If you can get it out now, might as well do it." He grumbled, and tilted his helm so that his neck cables were presented in plain view.

"That's what I like to hear." Pristinus smiled, and leaned forward, transforming one of his fingers into a small laser scalpel. The grounder froze upon seeing the tool. After much comforting murmur from my medic, however, he relaxed, and the Stealth got to work.

Within a breem, Pristinus took out the small, metal shard that had stuck in the grounder's joints, and patched up the tiny incision. Humming with approval, he leaned back to inspect his work, and dropped the shard into the grounder's opened palm. Transforming the tweezers back into his fingers, he patted the grounder on his shoulder, declaring him repaired.

"Is there anything else?" He asked, and waited while the grounder experimented with rolling his shoulder.

"Well…" The miner looked back at my medic, optics round. Kliks ticked past, and the mech became flustered, shifting to sit up straighter and gaze darting away. "I…I was wondering…" He mumbled, scratching his nose bridge, "…If I could…uhh…touch your wings."

Pristinus was not the only one to still in surprise. Nightfire tensed more rigid than all of us, having designated himself as our protector for the time being. I glanced at my trine mates, crossing my arms and shuffling on my thrusters. Thundercracker nibbled on his downer lip, while Skywarp simply gaped, a massive grin beginning to spread across his faceplate while he quietly snickered.

I hardly found the situation as amusing as my purple trine mate undoubted did. How _dare_ a gutter-caste scrapheap voice such a disrespectful request to a high-sparked?

Pristinus had yet replied, possibly rendered speechless from shock. I cycled a deep intake of air through my vents, and parted my lips to issue an order for him to return. However, before even one syllable has left my vocalizer, a bubble of sound emerged from the kneeling medic. The Stealth Jet's wings started to twitch. He burst into laughter, pearly giggles that matched the minute jerking of his shoulders.

"I—I apologize." He tried to muffle his brief lapse of professionalism. I felt my lips curl. Why was _he_ apologizing? There was nothing funny about having one's wings molested. But then again, Pristinus has always had a strange sense of humour. He's always been more lenient toward ground pounders, most likely due to his involvement in the Great Quint War, where fliers worked intimately with grounder forces.

"Why do you want to touch my wings?" He asked when he finally reined his laughter under control, voice coy and teasing.

The grounder flushed. "I've never seen fliers before, and I probably won't ever see one again." He tried to brush it off with a casual shrug, but his grimace of embarrassment ruined the effect. "Thought I'd ask, since you're right here." He ran an appraising look over Pristinus's wings. "I've always wondered what they felt like."

Pristinus quirked his helm as he thought, vocalizer emitting a small hum. "Well, why not?" He chirped, tone light, and perked his wings higher. "Go ahead," He leaned closer toward the grounder, and flicked his slender appendages in invite. "Just remember to be very gentle. Wings are very sensitive, after all."

The miner was so enthralled by my medic's pale, pristine wings that he could barely remember to nod. He was not the first to become captivated by them. The Stealth Jet was designated after his wings, the slender, white expanses of smooth, glossy plating leaving many fliers' sparks aquiver. However, strangely enough, Pristinus has not bonded, and had no lover I knew of, which was extremely odd, given that he was older than the Golden Age.

The grounder, with careful hands, wrapped his fingers around the bottom edges of Pristinus's wings. He caressed with long, gentle strokes, optics bright with awe. He traced the edges until his fingers reached the tips, where he tightened his grip in an experimental knead. Pristinus jolted slightly, but he did not tell his admirer to stop, so the mech grew bolder, pressing his palms flat against the thin, white limbs, rubbing back and forth.

I thought I'd be disgusted by the display, and yet, I could not bring myself to look away. There was something about the way the grounder held Pristinus's wings that made my spark swell, in warmth and longing. The miner treated them as delicately as he could. He worshipped them, as though they were the most beautiful and valued sight he has ever beholden in the universe. His optics shimmered. His previous impassive mask shattered into an expression of pure wonder and reverence. His lips fell apart, and I could tell, even from a distance, that he believed this moment to be the most extraordinary of his entire existence.

I watched, and I felt envious.

No one has ever admired my wings in such a manner, as flawless and perfect as they were.

I would not hesitate to say that I had the most magnificent pair of wings in all of Vos. I _knew_ many glorified them, as they have provided inspiration for much poetry and works of art. However, my people perceived my wings as a symbol of power, as proof of my superiority. None of them has ever _looked_ at my wings, nor have they seen them for what they were.

To my citizens, I was not Starscream, a Seeker, a mere individual.

I was Crown, who has, simply, always been beautiful.

Megatron has never gazed at my wings with similar adoration either. I had no doubt in my processors that he saw them as weapons, effective means of raining death on our enemies, which was perhaps the only aspect about me worthy of his respect. From what I could recall, the only treatment he's ever done to them was yanking at them to elicit cries of agony from my vocalizer. He's never touched them with anything akin to tenderness, unlike the way with which the grounder handled Pristinus's wings.

Megatron equated my wings with use, be it to help him win the war or to deal me punishment. He's never given any indication that he prided them in high regard. The only interest he's ever expressed was smearing his mark to brand me as his possession.

I was not aware of how blatantly I wore my misery until I caught Nightfire staring at me with a worried, but suspicious frown. I was so engrossed in watching the grounder's antics with my medic that I had forgotten all about my surroundings. Finding myself unguarded was very startling. I shook my helm, and snapped out of my thoughts.

"Are you quite done yet?" I shouted, jerking the grounder out of his stupor and gaining the attention of my subordinates. "We still have business with our mighty leader, and he does not appreciate tardiness." I sneered, an expression of repulsion plastered on for effect. As Pristinus excused himself from the miner's company, I turned away with a brisk pivot of my heels, and motioned at Skywarp to lead us to Megatron.

"This way," My purple trine mate gestured toward a flight of stairs. We followed him, and, before long, entered a massive chamber.

Machinery hummed, and spewed blasts of hot, humid air. It was a factory, where energon crystals were systematically categorized into different purities before getting sent into chutes for the conversion process. At the other end of the cave-like hall, two Constructicons were chattering to each other, pointing at a data pad held between them. The one of the left looked decidedly annoyed. The other radiated exasperation. I could not tell who exactly they were, only that their paintjobs designated them as parts of Hook's gestalt team. Not that their designations were important. As far as I was concerned, the only value they had was their grumpy medic who had the sheer audacity to yell at me.

I had no previously knowledge of gestalts until after the great fire of Tarn. During a battle, Megatron bellowed at the Constructicons to form "Devastator", and before I could figure out what the slag he meant, the six green and purple grounders leapt into a transformation, before stacking together into a gigantic mech that towered manifolds above even the largest of Shuttles. I was so shocked that I shifted into bipedal mode straight in the air, and gaped while the giant _thing_ wrecked through the city we had been attacking. Afterwards, back in Kaon, I was debriefed about the unique nature of their team. I was surprised I had never heard of such an interesting, and apparently rare subgroup. Vosian Archives have no previous records of their existence.

I was most curious about them. There was no gestalt in Vos, or in previous records of our planet. The Constructicons were reluctant when I approached them to unravel their innards. One of them mumbled that others have tried, but glares from his team mates shut him up for good. They appeared to share a bond with each other as well, and seemed to have the ability to communicate through such bond. I'd hesitate to call similarity to Seeker trines, but that would be the closet I could relate to.

One of the two Constructicons finally got fed up with whatever the other was saying. Throwing his arms in the air, he snarled a reply, and stomped away. The one lingering watched his team mate's retreating back with pursed lips, but he did not follow.

"You! Constructicon!" I called out once we came close enough to be heard over the machines. "Where is your team mate Hook?"

The Constructicon turned, visor glowing red and a facemask covering his features.

"Ahh, Commander Starscream," The mech greeted amiably, and subspaced his datapad before turning to face the approach of my group. "Hook's at the Southern sector right now. He's supervising the building site."

"So he's not busy," I stated, and motioned at Pristinus to come forward. "This is my personal medic, Pristinus, Director of Health and Medicine of Vos." The Stealth Jet bowed upon his introduction. "He wishes to speak with Hook." I instructed the grounder, "Tell him to meet us in haste."

"I can't do that, Commander." The mech frowned. "Lord Megatron said at least one of my team must be at the building site at all times."

"Then find someone to take over for him." I snapped, in no mood to argue with an insignificant construction worker.

"But no one else is available right now." The mech replied.

I leveled with him a glare. "Oh how your dilemma _pains_ me with woe." I jeered, a tight smile stretching thin over my faceplate.

"Uhhh," The Constructicon held up his hands in a gesture of placation. "Perhaps I can give your medic the coordinates, and he can fly there," He offered. "It'll be much faster than Hook anyways."

My lips curled, and my optics narrowed.

"The only reason I am even entertaining the notion of tolerance toward your implicit disrespect is that your team mate has somehow managed to prick the interest of one of _mine_, a feat nothing short of a miracle." I hissed, wings rising on my back. "Don't push your luck, ground pounder. Subordinate come to the superior, _not_ the other way around."

The mech froze, and his expression, what little I could see of it, soured. "Hey now, just you wait a klik here," He stood straighter, "when in the nine pits of Unicron did I—"

"-Your Highness, if I may speak," Pristinus interrupted before an argument could erupt between us. "I wouldn't mind in the slightest doing as this individual had suggested. After all, I won't be of much use accompanying you to your task. I would like to use my time more efficiently, Sire, if you would allow me to."

I did not respond, keeping my glower at the Constructicon, and the medic took my silence as an affirmative.

"Please send me the coordinates." He asked the ground pounder, who looked away, and nodded.

"I already told Hook you're coming, so he'll be watching for you." The mech said. "Now if you'll excuse me, Commander and entourage, I have to go finish my designs." With a curt bow, he walked away, and I scoffed, purging our interaction from my data-banks.

There was no need to remember talking to an inconsequential bottom-scraper.

Pristinus excused himself, and went the way we came. He left the factory chamber, and promptly took off after a quick transformation. I watched my medic fly out of sight, and turned to Skywarp.

"Where's Megatron meeting us?" I asked. "I hope he doesn't expect us to enter the mines." I grimaced, wings in a disgruntled jerk on my back.

"Well—…Uhh…" Skywarp averted his optics, and made a weak wave to the right. "This way." He led us through a side door, which opened to reveal a dimly-lit corridor. I frowned, glancing at him as I tried to interpret his inadequate response. He'd practically ignored my question, which tensed my wing joints with unease.

The hall we'd entered had an incredibly low ceiling. This was uncomfortable for all of us, especially Nightfire, who kept glancing up as though expecting the ceiling to drop on his helm. Fortunately, the room we entered afterwards was very spacious. My Space Shuttle friend heaved a sigh of relief. I fought not to do the same. Instead, I swept my gaze across the chamber, and spotted Megatron standing with Shockwave. They both turned upon out arrival. Shockwave bowed in my direction, while Megatron merely waited, silent and unmoving.

"Lord Megatron," I strutted toward him, a familiar, haughty smirk gracing my lips. "You must be most pleased that this mine has produced such wealth of energon crystals. After all," I stopped in front of him, and wrapped my hands over my hips, "My fliers played an imperative role in its capture from the Autobots."

"Starscream," He acknowledged. My wings flicked on my back, anticipating praise. However, he gave none. "The results have been satisfactory, yes." He affirmed with an even, indifferent tone, and my lips curled in annoyance.

"Would it _kill_ you to give a compliment?" I snapped in distaste. "My fliers fought valiantly for this outpost. They made many sacrifices."

"Yes, they did." Megatron stated. That was all.

Scoffing with a huff, I decided to let his lack of appreciation go for the moment, and tossed Shockwave a brief glance.

"What's _he_ doing here?" I sneered. "Can't you go _any_where without one of your aft-kissers?" I drawled, mocking master and lapdog. Megatron's optics narrowed by a minute degree, but he did not rise to my bait.

"Shockwave is here to oversee the installation of the energon-signature amplifier, since the prototype you'd sent us has been effective thus far." He answered, voice flat as a drone's.

"I am most curious about how the amplifier is able to differentiate between the crystals and the energon inside the workers." Shockwave interjected, words lilting to imitate natural inflections of anticipation and excitement. "It is quite remarkable." His optic blinked in rapid succession. "Its new feature of allowing the workers to access its scans through their communications system is very impressive."

I gave him a sideways stare, and hummed, keeping my lips pursed and glare disdainful. Turning back to Megatron, I let out a curt ex-vent, and decided to hurry to the task so I could return to the comfort of my city.

"Well?" I crossed my arms. "Where do you want the amplifier?"

"This way." Megatron answered. He turned, and strode toward the side door of the room, without a single word on my undesirable attitude. Again, I was taken back. He seemed to have completely stopped caring about what I said or did as long as it did not compromise my competence in battle. The strain this behaviour put on my spark was getting brittle, and I almost shouted at him, demanded to know why he was acting this way. However, the words would not come. I pressed closed my lips, and followed him, hands tight fists by my sides. This was not the time to make a scene. I did not want to express Megatron's aloofness bothered me, especially not in front of Nightfire.

We passed through the door, and walked down several winding corridors. The air progressively became hotter, more humid. Dust grew thick, until my intakes itched from irritation. The floor had a slight slope. We were heading underground, entering deeper into Cybertron. The thought agitated me. I had to bite my dentae to stop myself from announcing my discomfort.

Megatron did not tolerate weakness in his troops, and my distress would only be interpreted as such by the ground pounder.

_He_ was right at home, of course, the slagger. I glared at the back of his bucket-shaped helmet. Who knew how many vorns he'd spent in the mines, digging and plowing his way through near darkness to pry precious fuel from our planet's solid depths? The lights overhead buzzed and flickered, splashing shadows on the walls. The dark shapes chased each other when the light crackled. They startled me, jolting my wings when I thought they were persons from the corners of my vision.

I looked back every once in a while to check on my fliers. Thundercracker had glued himself to Skywarp's side, optics wide and alert. He gaped at all the darting shadows, as though in suspicion of camouflaged danger. Skywarp had his right arm around our restless trine mate's waist. He murmured into the blue Seeker's audial, and though the teleporter did not appear as bothered about our constricting surroundings, his optics were a little too bright, casting a sickly glow to the furrow between his brow ridges.

I could barely make out Nightfire's silhouette without recalibrating my visual sensors. The black of his paintjob blended seamlessly into the darkness shrouding us. If Seekers were feeling claustrophobic, I could not imagine what a Space Shuttle must be going through, being much larger and wider. To my surprise, my scientific advisor carried forward with apparent ease. His back was straight. His steps were firm. His wings had sagged from their usual perk, but that was his only sign of discomfort with the situation.

Observing my fliers relieved, partially, the nipping inside my spark chamber. I turned my helm around, and stared at Megatron's broad back, finding it difficult to refrain from breaking the suppressive silence.

"How much longer?" My voice was higher than usual. It echoed in the long, dank corridor like a thin wail. I grimaced, hating the pitch at which I sounded. It was screechy even for my standards.

"Not much." Megatron replied, tilting toward me with a brief glance. His optics penetrated the gloom like flaring pits of smelter fire. I shivered, and averted my gaze to the floor.

…which was moist, _slippery_ under my peds. I had to be very careful to avoid sliding on my thrusters.

I wished my trine mates were a little closer.

A shrill yelp burst from behind me. My wings swung up in less than a klik, and I jumped, intakes hitching with a gasp. My fuel pump almost skipped a beat, and I cursed, my spark clenching in fright.

Everyone stopped. Megatron turned around. He was looking at someone, annoyance pulling down the line of his lips, so I turned as well, a tirade prepared on the tip of my glossa to lash out at whichever idiot that had dared to give the Crown Prince a startle.

Thundercracker was clutching onto Skywarp with even greater force than before, faceplate in a grimace of terror. I should have known it was him. He was the only Seeker who could yelp and retain dignity in his voice. He was staring into the shadows on his right, optics stretched wide and wings perpendicular to his back. He pressed so close to Skywarp that the purple Seeker started to look embarrassed, though I doubted the teleporter minded holding our blue trine mate in his arms.

Nightfire glanced between the shadows and Thundercracker, wearing the biggest frown of confusion I have ever seen on his features. He was concerned. He'd stepped a little closer to my trine mates without intruding into their space, and his joints had tensed, the arc of his wings rigid.

Shockwave, at the rear of our group, peered around Nightfire's back. He might have been curious, but it was hard to tell with only an orb of light to work with.

"What is it?" Megatron was the one to breach the silence, voice a guttural grunt saturated with impatience. My wings jerked, and I bit out another quiet curse, scooting aside so the ex-gladiator would not speak right over my helm.

"…Something just _touched_ me…" Thundercracker whispered, optics in full shine darting about as he looked for the perpetrator.

"There's nothing there." Skywarp mumbled.

"I know, but—…I swear, something grabbed my ped just now!" The blue Seeker ducked behind Skywarp, and clung on tighter.

"It was probably a reanimated limb drone." Megatron answered as though recounting the weather. "They were popular once in the mines."

"Reanimated _limb_ drone?" I tilted toward him, and made a face, trying to figure out why, of all designations, they were given such a strange one.

"It is exactly as its name suggests." Megatron lowered his helm, and caught my gaze. "Cave-ins happen frequently, and workers die. A mech at a mining outpost next mine had the idea of severing the limbs and reactivating them to keep as pets. These _drones_ are equipped with small electric generators that run on industrial-grade energon. They provided entertainment for the miners."

My wings twitched.

"One of such entertainment was miniature pit-fights between the drones." Megatron spoke on, "They got out of hand when a betting pool started, and some took their losses much too seriously. The Autobots issued a permanent ban, and tried to confiscate the drones. However, they did not manage to capture all of them. These _limbs_ now infest the mines, stealing energon wherever they can."

I could only gape at my lord, optics round and lips parted. What he'd just explained was difficult, too poetically macabre, to process at once. The corridor was silent. I could only assume the others shared my sentiments.

Except for Shockwave. The slagger couldn't gape even if he had wanted to.

"…_How_ do they…know to find energon?" Thundercracker asked, voice hushed with a touch of disgust and morbid curiosity.

"They are equipped with small processing chips." Megatron looked over my helm. Silence hung in the air once again. His voice faded away, a murmuring echo in the dark corridor with stain-patched walls, and I felt sick, fuel tank churning in nausea.

Suddenly, a loud groan blared along the hallway, followed by a wave of clatters. For a spark-seizing moment, I thought the ceiling was going to collapse. I panicked, springing forward with a sharp gasp. I grabbed onto the closest mech I could reach, which happened to be Megatron, which, under normal circumstances, would have made my wings bristle in distaste. However, faced with the looming threat of being stuck underground, I figured the best candidate to be stuck with would be an ex-miner – a perfectly logical decision. I clamed my arms around his, and pressed against him as though welded to his plating. Nothing in the universe could pry me from him until it became clear that Cybertron was not about to swallow me into its inky, solid depths.

I peered up at the ceiling as though I could see beyond it to figure out what was going on.

"What _was_ that?!" I hissed in a whisper, wings quivering and pointed down.

"The pipes." Megatron answered, and fear-induced irritation slammed into me faster than I could ignite a thruster.

"Do you think I'm _stupid_? No pipe can _possibly_ sound like that!" I snapped at him, fingers clenching harder around his arm until my joints started to throb. "It was like Unicron's innards after gorging on too many planets!"

The groan came again, and I squealed in terror, frantically yanking Megatron closer against me just in case he thought it was funny to push me away to withstand the dangers of being stuck in a cave-in all by my poor, defenseless, claustrophobic Seekerly self.

"You are exaggerating." Megatron uttered a curt noise that sounded very much like a hybrid of a grunt and a snort. He was probably laughing at me in secret, but no matter. At least he hasn't shoved me off.

"I am _not_ exaggerating!" I started to yell, blabbering nonstop as I tended to do when confronted with fear-struck situations I had no control over. "I don't care if your aft's rusted for millions of vorns. I'm too young to deactivate! I don't want to have my spark extinguished while stuck in a dark, damp, nasty, slag-infested pit-hole filled with creepy crawly severed limbs! I'm too beautiful to die in such a degrading manner! What will my predecessors think when I join them in the Well of Sparks? Here comes Crown Prince Starscream, deactivated in a mine before he could even break his seal and produce a sparkling. Who's ever heard of a flier in a mine?! I _knew_ I shouldn't trust you to pick a good location for the amplifier. Why did I even _fathom_ that I can trust you with something so important? Because I'm glitched in the processors – that's why!"

"If you don't stop screaming at such an unnatural decibel, you might very well bring the ceiling down on us." Megatron stated in a deadpan tone. The slagger had the audacity to sound _bored_, and I almost shrieked at him for his utterly inappropriate disregard toward our obviously life-threatening predicament. Before I could, the meaning behind his words sank in. I grudgingly snapped my mouth shut, and fought back a shiver as I glanced up at the ceiling, frightful and crouching.

Megatron watched me, and let out a sigh. "We are going to be fine, Starscream." He sounded frustrated. "There won't be cave-ins here. We are not deep enough." Despite the scowl on his faceplate, he has yet made any movement to throw me off. I stayed silent, pressing my lips together. While there was much I'd wanted to say, I far more preferred survival over getting the last word, at lease with the possibility of bringing down the ceiling.

"…Are you planning on plastering yourself to me for the remainder of our trip?" Megatron asked, and I immediately whimpered, tugging him close. After a most awkward silence, he sent out another blast of air through his vents, and turned around, to walk further down into the corridor.

"Wh-What the frag do you think you're doing?!" It took all what was left of my fraying self-control to not shout. "We can't go that way! You said we're safe from cave-ins _here_, but you never said anything about down _there_!" Even though I was nearly not strong enough to physically deter him from the heading in the direction he'd wanted to go, I still yanked on his arm, insistent to make him acknowledge my point.

"If you are too cowardly to go any further, you can return to the surface." Megatron was definitely annoyed with me now. His voice held a growling edge, and he tossed me a brief glare.

"Go back up by myself? Are you crazy?!" I protested, "What if I get lost? Then I'll never find my way to the surface!"

"Then you are stuck with no choice but to come with us." He concluded, and I let out a frustrated whine, trying not to stumble as I matched his strides while glued to his arm.

"Don't use words like 'stuck', you tactless _bucket_. What if it _happens_?" I grumbled. However, another glare from him effectively shut me up for good. He was an ex-miner. If he thought it was a good time for me to shut up, he must have had reason, a safety reason, and I was not inclined to test out what that safety reason was.

After much clumsy shuffling, one of my peds accidentally got caught around the ex-gladiator's. We tripped, and barely avoided falling flat on our faceplates. Megatron, after catching ourselves, snarled, and snapped his helm in my direction. I was certain he was going to punch me, or worse, shake me off. To my surprise, he did not. Instead, he turned, and scooped me off the ground with a single sweep, an arm firm around my waist. With a yelp, I grappled for his shoulders, and his other arm wrapped under my perch. Without a single word, he continued walking as though nothing had happened. I dipped my chin, and wiggled to get more comfortable before latching my arms around his shoulders.

A triumphant smirk curled up my lips. I buried it against his neck cables. Now there was no way he could shake me off! Even if a cave-in happened, I was safe, because I was with him. He'd worked at the mines for countless vorns. If anyone was to know what to do when stuck underground, it would be him.

…And it's been such a long time since he'd last allowed me this close.

We went deeper into the mine, and passed through two sets of airlock gates. They creaked and clanked as they slid apart, gears rusted and old. The heat and humidity became worse as the final set of doors opened. A hot blast of air hit my flight sensors, and I flinched, grimacing in discomfort.

The temperature was a different smolder from Tarn and its Great Fire, one made of steam rather than flame. We walked through the final pair of gates, and stepped onto a large platform without railing of any kind. It was an elevator, bare without any covering and activated by a lever. At least Megatron had the foresight to avoid the box on our far right. Judging by the size of that contraption, Nightfire would not even be able to enter it.

The platform gave a heavy jolt, and started to descend. The sudden clunk as it moved startled my fliers. Sighing, Thundercracker looked around, and frowned as his vision turned upwards. Curious, I followed his optics, and gave our surrounding a slow sweep.

We were in a large, vertical tunnel, lined with stairs and ramps in steep spirals. Workers pushed and carried carts full of energon crystals, which emitted an eerie glow. The darkness here was like liquid, ink that gathered around every light source, drenching occupants within the mine. The tiny lambs along the stairs were like flickering embers, suffocated by the impenetrable, ominous gloom. I recalibrated my optical settings, and tried to see if the tunnel led to the surface. I couldn't detect any light from above, only blackness, stretching infinitely far. It was probably a good thing that I had no knowledge of how far down we were. Otherwise, I would have been alarmed, even _if_ the tunnel was wide and open space.

We continued downward, in complete silence. Not a single word was shared between us. Only the miners' pedfalls and straining joints disturbed the quiet, accompanied by clattering and scraping noises, some trickling in from tunnels branching from the one we currently traveled through. Every once in a while, the stairs groaned and screeched under the combined weight of worker and a full cart. However, none of the ground pounders seemed to care, moving on as though they did not hear it at all.

I squirmed in Megatron's arms, and pulled myself higher. He grunted when I kneed him in the chassis, but he did not snap at me to stop, only adjusting his hold around me. I peered over his shoulder to check on my trine mates, and found them huddled together on the middle of the platform. Thundercracker's wing pointed at the floor. They shivered, visible even through the dark. Skywarp was faring significantly better. He rubbed our blue trine mate between the wing joints, and seemed to be murmuring something, optics dim and brow ridges in a shallow knit.

Shockwave had moved to stand on the far left of the platform, behind Megatron at a respectable distance. He was, of course, completely fine. His only optic blinked at odd intervals, and I wondered if that meant he was thinking, or perhaps plotting. I glared at him, gaze slitted with suspicion. However, he didn't even notice. He exhibited no reaction whatsoever, so I grew bored, and stopped.

Nightfire was by himself in the back corner, on the right. He had his arms crossed over his chassis, a faceplate of stern. At first, I was worried that he was displeased with me, about my choice of sticking with Megatron. However, after a closer inspection, he was simply on edge, staring forward and lips pursed.

"You really _are_ a sadistic fragger, you know that?" I huffed out a sigh, and settled down. "I bet you chose the location for the amplifier just to see what happens to fliers when they go underground." I muttered into his neck cables, wiggling to return to my previous position.

"You give me too much credit, Starscream." Megatron answered, adjusting his arms around me. He didn't sound like he cared about my name-calling, demeanor almost peaceful, surrounded by this darkness and humidity undoubtedly familiar to him. A little surprised, I leaned back a little, to catch sight of his faceplate.

He tilted his chin down when he noticed my movement. Our optics met. His expression remained bland and impassive, but his features were relaxed. I could tell from the lack of tension usually found in the firm set of his lips, the minute narrow of his gaze. He looked younger, despite the dim lighting that cast shadows on his frame, etching each and every scar and scratch. He looked a little distant, but this time, it was more pensive than guarded. Perhaps he was reminiscing with his vorns at his own mining outpost, though I hadn't the faintest clue what memory could be worth remembering about, having been made in a hole like this.

We looked at each other, without a word spoken. Silence stretched brittle. I let out a burst of air through my vents, and looked away, plopping my helm down against his shoulder. It was hot. His plating was warm. However, I did not mind. My cooling fans could be heard over the murmur of noises around us, whirring enthusiastically to bring my internal temperature down to a tolerable level. Coolant was a caress of chill throughout my systems. Megatron's ventilation stirred my wings. They created a steady cycle of current, which eased the need of my flight system in finding stimulation.

As long as there was moving air, and a promise of a safe return to the sky, I could keep my fear under control.

With nothing to do, I traced the ridges on the cables of his neck with my finger tips. His helm turned slightly when he registered my touch, but he said nothing, and allowed me to do what I wanted. His leniency was, in itself, a shock. It pleased yet troubled me at the same time. One part of me wanted to announce, with a perk of my wings, that it was about time he recognized how I was to be properly treated, while another, suspicious of his motives, whispered that this divergence of character should, in me, rouse alarm. It was so unlike him to not be violent, especially when he _knew_ I was being difficult just to get under his plating. He's been so calm when dealing with my repetitive attempts at challenging his leadership, which bothered me, much more than I had anticipated.

_Why_ has he stopped hitting me? Was he deterred because he did not want to risk a reoccurrence of what had happened last time?

Last time.

When my yearning,

My desire.

Presented for him,

the depth of my perversity…

Of trickling fluids staining my thighs.

My cheek plates burned, and I grumbled, kicking that train of thought out of my processors. I had sworn to myself that I would never rekindle with that cycle ever again. It was one of the most shameful and depraved moments of my existence. The only reason I hasn't deleted it altogether was—

Well.

That was not important.

We finally reached the bottom. Megatron stepped off the platform, and led the way. We walked through a hall of metal and rock, and entered what looked like a large chamber leading to many other tunnels.

Megatron stopped, and turned around to address our group. This gave me a chance to scan the rest of the chamber, and there, in the middle, was the seat of the amplifier on a platform.

"This is the precise center of the mine." The ex-gladiator explained, and I looked around as he spoke. "If the amplifier is placed here, every worker will be able to receive its signal."

Nightfire gave a brisk nod, and reached into his subspace.

"I will get to work then." He was clearly looking forward to returning to the surface, striding up the platform without even asking for my permission. I hardly cared at that point, and watched the Space Shuttle, impatience pulsing my energy field. Megatron turned. I shifted accordingly to catch a view. My science advisor took out the amplifier, the small device dwarfed by his hand, and set it down, slipping it into its seat. There was a series of tiny clicks, and the amplifier lit up, whining into activation.

"…Is that it?" Skywarp's voice reached my audials, and I swirled around to give him an irritated glance.

"Do you honestly think we all have nothing better to do than coming down here for the sole purpose of putting the amplifier into its seat – a task even a simpleton like _you_ can achieve?" I scowled, and bit out with a drawl.

Skywarp scrunched his nose-bridge, and shrugged. "Just _asking_…" He grumbled, and went back to watching Nightfire.

The Space Shuttle had already begun entering the necessary instructions and codes. A hologram appeared. It showed glowing scrolls of writing alongside a three-dimensional, gridded model of the mine. Nightfire started tapping at the hologram, and the miners pushing their carts around us paused as they passed by, to stare. Several breems ticked by. Finally, my science advisor heaved a deep sigh, and entered the last line of commands, stepping back when the hologram blinked into a process bar.

"It's finished. The system should be up and running in three…two…one. Activated." The amplifier made a small beep, and the hologram disappeared. Nightfire turned around, and bowed his helm in my direction. I nodded, tilting toward Megatron, who had, on his faceplate, the focused, blank expression all mechs wore when mid-conversation in their comm.s.

"How are the results?" I asked, a pleased smirk lifting the corners of my lips.

"So far, yet to be seen," He answered after a short pause. "By the end of the cycle, we will get the results."

Of _course_ all _he_ cared about was the energon crystals and not our ingenious work.

I scowled at him in distaste.

"_Fine_." I glowered. "Just remember to give me the rewards I deserve when you've been adequately amazed."

"Asking for _more_ rewards, Starscream?" Megatron looked back at me, not bothered by my glare at all. "I have allowed you to attach yourself to me like a malfunctioning symbiotic drone. I believe that is rewarding enough."

"_What?!_" My voice shot up in volume and pitch as my fingers tightened around his shoulders. "I give you the prized privilege of being my perch and you thank me with-with—…such insufferable nonappreciation? That is completely unacceptable!"

"I can drop you if it is insufficient." His optics flashed for a split klik. The slagger—…He was _amused_!

I ground my jaws, and narrowed my optics to a full glare.

"_Why_, mighty Megatron," I purred through gritted dentae and a forced grin, "I didn't know you _cared_ so much about what I _think_."

Megatron quirked up one of his brow ridges. Without warning, his arms fell away.

With a sharp, startled cry, I latched onto his shoulders, and threw my legs around his hips.

"You glitch!" I shrieked. "You almost _dropped_ me!" I shouted right into his faceplate, and reeled in victorious glee when he flinched at the shrillness of my voice.

"If you can articulate your displeasure, you can walk on your own." The ex-miner replied in a dry, gruff voice, and dealt me a flat stare.

"Silence!" I yelled, and would have smacked him on the helm if I did not need both hands to clutch onto his frame. "I'm not _nearly_ finished with expressing my utter outrage toward your continuous belittling of my accomplishments, _nor_ am I done professing my retaliations in response to your insulting treatment of my person!" I sneered at the insolent slagger. "You think you can just brush me off like every other instance where I generously put aside my princely duties to actually put _effort_ into bestowing you and your scrapheap of an army with weapons and the latest Vosian technology?! _No!_ I refuse to endure this disrespect any longer! Not even _once_ did you acknowledge the amount of research and time I've personally invested into these projects! Do you have any idea how much knowledge and power I am entrusting in you? Fliers have spent _vorns_ perfecting this amplifier _alone_ and you think _carrying me around_ is going to—"

A sudden boom erupted overhead. I jumped, intakes hitching in a gasp. The noise was so loud that it shook the ground and the walls around us. It reverberated in the hollow of the large chamber, like a chorus of bellowing voices. Tirade forgotten, I froze into stillness, optics wide as I glanced around with great alarm.

"…What—…What _was_ that…?" I whispered, too terrified to even shiver.

Megatron stared at me before tilting back his helm, vision flickering up.

"You have finally accomplished the unachievable, Starscream." He murmured, and actually frowned in worry. "You seemed to have caused a cave-in with your extraordinary prowess of vocals."

"_Wh-What?!_" I squeaked, optics stretched so wide that I was sure the glass was going to crack. "B-But the—the ceiling isn't—"

"-It has yet to begun to sink, but it will, very soon." He interrupted me, and studied our surroundings, undoubtedly assessing our situation in a way only an ex-miner could. "Judging by our current distance from the surface, we will be stuck here for at least one full cycle before we can be rescued."

I was too horrified to even form one word to describe how terrified I was at the mere _prospect_ of—

"In order to escape, you must follow everything I say." Megatron pinned me with a stare. "You must remain completely silent for the remainder of our time underground, and not move a single cable, understood?"

I hastily nodded. I've never seen him this serious before, solemn without a hint of anger. The booming came again, shaking the ground, and I whimpered, burrowing my helm against his neck cables. Genitor of a glitch I did not want to be stuck down here. This was the absolute night-purge of every flier sparkling, to be sealed off and left to rust until either hysteria or hunger snuffed the spark.

It was not until we were halfway up to the surface when I noticed, with much confusion, that the miners pushing the carts were far too at leisure for there to have been a cave-in.

This could mean only one thing:

That Primus-damned, scrap-scraping aft of a fragger had _lied_ to me just to get me to _shut up_.

Nothing fueled rage faster than the drive for vengeance.

The rest of our journey was filled with punches and kicks and snarling threats promising an agonizing deactivation.

Megatron eventually became so fed up that he struck me with a backhand vicious enough to stun my processors for two full breems. I returned to Vos with a stinging cheek plate. However, even as I screeched at my trine mates and Nightfire about the injustice of it all, my spark felt a lot lighter than it had been for a very long time.

Not that I was happy Lord Slagger hit me.

I was just relieved that things were starting to take a little resemblance to normal.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes: <strong>It wasn't until the next cycle did any member of that group realize that they'd left Pristinus back at the mine. When questioned about why he hasn't made contact with Vos to arrange a pick-up, the medic only smiled, and said he had pleasant company.

Or something like that, haha!

Shout-outs time once again to my lovely reviewers _keeperofcoldtoes_, _Random523_, _VyxenSkye_, _TammyCat_, _avisshadow26939_, _6MissSparklez9_, _Guest 1_, _Sneer_, _Other Personalities_, _Krazed Jetformer_, _Rozelith_, _Cannonade_, _FIREstee_, _Borath_, _starscream fan_, _Confuzzled-Neko_, _loverofmythology_, _DreamMaster08X_, _Guest 2_, _Eiswolf-Zero_, _Kim2000_, _supergirl95_, _prismadecepticons_, _The-writing-Mew_, _DeceptivelyGood_, _starscreamfancypants_, _Devlinn Reiko_, _Khysani Myrical_, _Jeanette_, _heretherebemonsters_, and _Dark Limbo_. Thank you very much for your feedback. I greatly appreciate it!

Next chapter: Battle for Praxus. ;)

A review would be lovely.


	25. XXVI, i

Disclaimer: Anything IDW owns I do not own.

* * *

><p>XXVI<p>

(i)

Praxus, metro-center of the arts.

I stood on its tallest building, the city hall, and watched the battle ravage across the terrain, my trine mates flanking my wings.

Explosions wreaked havoc in all direction. Screams filled the air, muffled by the thunderous roars of cracking infrastructure and shattering glass. Buildings toppled, crumbling to the ground in deafening cries. Fire raged over the city, rendering the streets a chaotic patchwork of bright light – a sea of flames shrieking in agony.

My fliers danced in the air, engines a sharp screech, glinting pairs of wings forming intricate patterns through columns of smoke. They unleashed a rain of bombs onto the Autobots below. Strikers, Fighter Jets, and Seekers flew together, led by my three generals. I could hear them, barking orders through the Vosian military frequency.

Skywarp fidgeted by my left wing. He was watching the scene, a wide grin below glittering optics, eager and impatient to join the battle. Thundercracker stood on my right, back straight and stance firm. His expression was stoic, frame still like a statue of ice. A smirk stretched over my faceplate. My fuel pump raced, and my spark swelled. My hands curled into fists. My null rays whirred with a rush of charge through my weapons system, barrel shining from the fire beneath us.

I had come to realize, after numerous battles, that while my compact cannons were effective, some grounders were simply too hard-plated to experience the pleasure of deactivation at my hands. After joors cooped up in my personal laboratory, I came up with a solution:

If I could not kill the grounders, I could paralyze them.

It was a wonderful idea, really – creative, new, and absolutely _delightful_. If an Autobot survived the initial discharge, he would collapse to the ground, helpless and unable to move or call for aid. This would be how the Decepticon ground forces find him, undoubtedly a feast for those ravenous, energon-thirsty lunatics, who seemed to have a collectively penchant for tearing into guts with their bare digits.

The air was hot. It warmed my plating. My wings flicked, and my flight sensors itched, irritated by the tickling brushes of heat.

"How much longer?" Skywarp asked, voice laced with static, almost a growl. "How much longer, Star?"

"Soon," I tilted toward him, voice a soft, lilting purr. "Very soon."

Skywarp nodded. He licked his lips with a slow swipe of his glossa. The gesture was so downright perverse that my smirk grew into a grin, and I laughed, engine stirring vibration through my frame.

He was not the only Seeker craving for blood on this night cycle.

Thundercracker was the only one who did not share our enthusiasm. He has developed an attitude of detachment during battle, following the plan dutifully, but never beyond what was necessary. I knew killing still bothered him. It would likely continue to bother him until the end of the war. His spark was too soft for military missions, but his post as my trine mate left him no choice but to fight by my side.

The Strikers descended once more, shooting straight down from the sky, followed by Fighters. The heavier Jets fired their massive double-charge cannons, and veered upwards, leaving room for the Fighters to deploy their missiles. With a battle-cry from Ramjet, the Seekers made their next move, sleek frames slicing through the air. They darted between the weave-work of anti-flight weaponry with practiced ease, and released their cluster bombs, engulfing the eastern front in an eruption of flames, bubbles of light dotted with debris.

The pride in my spark soared.

Why did Megatron need ground pounders when he had my fliers at his disposal?

"C'mon c'mon c'mon _c'mon_!" Skywarp was trembling with excitement. He bounced on his thrusters, energy field a furnace of anticipation as he waited for a final explosion as our signal. My fingers curled tighter into my palms. I ran a deep cycle of hot air through my vents, equally expectant, watching the site with keen, wide optics.

Suddenly, there it was: a burst of burning debris leaving trails of smoke from a flare of piercing light.

"Now!" I shouted, and leapt from the building. With a smooth dive, I transformed, and shot off to the west with a sharp flip. A ripple in the air, followed by a rumbling sonic boom, announced Thundercracker's arrival at my right wing. Skywarp appeared at my left with a puff of purple smoke. He rolled with a cheer, and sent a blast through his thrusters when he righted his nosecone, catching up with us with a spurt of speed.

We flew toward the Autobots stationed on the western front, high in altitude, shielded by smoke. With the east quadrant weakened, our enemy would rattle in their resolve, providing an opportunity for my trine and I to strike. Our objective was simple: bring down the multi-cannoned, dead weight of a tank sitting in the middle of the Autobot forces. It was a troublesome artillery vehicle, capable of reaching unprecedented distances. It's given both ground pounders and fliers much grief over the past few battles. Bringing it down was difficult, impossible without heavy losses by those on the ground. Surrounded by lines of Autobots at the center of their fortress, the thick-armored monstrosity was practically untouchable, unless, of course, one was the fastest and most agile flier on the planet aided by two trine mates of unique talents.

My only mission was firing one single shot into its control hub, buried deep within its bowels and accessible only by cracks between cannon barrels. I did not need to concern myself with the Autobots below us. My trine mates were here to cover me, to ensure that I reach my optimal shooting angle. If we took down the tank, the Decepticons would move in, and the western front was as good as taken.

:_The Royal Trine is in procession. I repeat, the Royal Trine is _in procession_._: Bladeflight's voice rang across the comm.-line. :_ Vosian forces on standby. Remain alert for evacuation or rescue. Commander Soundwave, do you receive?_:

:_Affirmative. Update forwarded – Decepticon Line-One._: Soundwave droned in reply.

My trine neared the western front. The air was clearer here, and the Autobots immediately noticed our approach. Within kliks, a storm of laser fire surged up around us. An anti-flight artillery shell hurled past my wing tip, a mere cable width away. I hissed a curse, and tossed into a roll to avoid the incoming bombardment of cannon shots. My trine mates split from my sides. They dove and rose around me, blasting down hostile fire, even taking hits if they could not divert the shots in time. A missile caught Skywarp in his flight path. He bellowed an explicative, and disappeared behind a column of smoke. I could not see him, even in my peripheral. My radar informed me that he had been stalled, had fallen out of alignment with us.

Thundercracker was overwhelmed. He had to clear my left and right, and the web of lasers and shrapnel shells kept getting thicker. A shot grazed my left wing. I swore, biting down the sharp sting, and evaded the rest with maneuvers that would have killed any other Seeker. I did not have time to ask if Skywarp was alright. I could not afford to wonder how Thundercracker was holding up, covering me in all directions. I only pushed onward, gaining in speed, slicing through the currents to reach my goal.

A flash of light, followed by a quiet "pop". Skywarp returned, just in time to dodge a string of laser fire. He righted his wings, and paid back in kind with his null rays. Thundercracker leveled to his previous position, and derailed two missiles beneath me. Everything was instinct now. There was no time to process the situation around us. Weapon systems blistering hot, we reached halfway point, and had to descend further for me to get my single shot.

My trine mates were struggling to keep up with my speed. They pushed their engines until they screeched, but I was losing them. I was lighter and slimmer. If I flew at top speed without regard for their capabilities, our formation would break faster than Skywarp could teleport. Since he could teleport, he had a slight better time than Thundercracker. He popped around me, firing in succession, and brought down several attempts to take me out of the sky. I did my best to make his job easier, avoiding as many attacks as I could. However, there were too many. A laser shot sailed from below, and Skywarp teleported under me, taking it on a wing. It pierced straight through, a gaping hole that threw my purple trine mate into a spiraling flip that clenched my spark in ice. He let out a cry, flight a jerking wobble, but he recovered quickly, warping back to my left wing. He did not even complain about the wound. There was no time if he wanted to clear my path

I did not dare to feel relieved. I pushed my speed further.

Thundercracker was falling behind, but he was within range. His thrusters roared, a steady tremble in the air, rippling against my flight sensors until they buzzed. The sound was as though a Space Shuttle plunging through an atmosphere, and the thought stirred my spark, an inappropriate giddiness. My blue trine mate had quite the aim. His shots were accurate, giving me just enough cover to slip around any stray shots sneaking past his defenses. However, I could not remain unscathed. Cosmetic injuries aside, both of my wings bore cuts and scrapes. They did not hinder my speed, but they did make maneuvering a little harder.

"TC! Your left!" Skywarp shouted. His voice was drowned out by a loud explosion. It was close. Too close. I was not in its immediate range, but my audials stung with feedback, a wave of heat lashing against my scorched derma. I did not hear Thundercracker cry out. I _felt_ it. I felt _him_ taking the strike. His end of the trine link flared with a crippling wave of agony, and I almost stumbled, barely escaping a thicket of cannon blasts. Skywarp spat curses, but he remained in position, keeping to my side. He had to ensure I reached the tank. Even Thundercracker's safety was secondary compared to our objective.

I knew Thundercracker was still in the air though. His spark was strong, a searing star of frustration and pain. A few kliks later, the familiar rumbling of his thrusters came within auditory range. An artillery shell shooting for my right wing was diverted by a precise null ray blast.

We continued through enemy airspace. The tank came into view, and by Primus was it ugly, even more so than I remembered. It was covered by splashes of muddy colours, and its proportions were messy, no elegant lines to speak of. It was like a nest of barrels, cannons grouped in dozens. They were raised, pointed skyward, all of them aimed toward—

…Us.

There was no time for alarm. I was halfway through sending a warning glyph to my trine mates when the rows of cannons fired, a wave of cluster shells screaming toward us. Skywarp shot his null rays, cussing more creatively than the most seasoned soldier. Laser fire joined the cannon discharges, until the night sky lit up with colour, and this time, one of them caught my right wing, spearing through the plating, a sear that melted wires and sensory modules. I stumbled, neural network an uproar of pain. However, I only gritted it back, and forced myself to ignore its bite, bludgeoning on.

Thundercracker was lagging behind. He continued to help, but he was too far back to offer much aid. His speed had been compromised, He must have received a terrible injury, to slow to such a degree while his thrusters remained functional. I knew we did not have much time left. I was not about to endanger the sparks of my trine mates to get rid of a tank, but I did not want to give up, not just yet, not when I was so close to my target.

My pride alone would not allow me to disengage the mission.

A cry from Skywarp startled me out of concentration. He received a direct hit.

"Slag!" I heard him shout, and he was suddenly gone, his disappearance so fast that he might as well have teleported.

:_My thrusters are down!_: He spoke through comm., :_I can teleport to your side, Star, but you're pretty much on your own._:

Missiles, cannon blasts – they were everywhere, each aimed to bring me down. The Autobots were persistent. They were wasting ammo on one single Seeker. I did not know if they were aware of who I was. I could not spare even one klik to think as I flipped, dove, veered in the air. Scorch marks blackened my plating. Lasers clipped my wings and my tailfin. The head of a large missile almost struck my nosecone, and I yelped, throwing myself to the side with a roll. Every surface on my frame hurt. My spark swirled with rising fear as thoughts of self-preservation began to cloud my processors. Maybe I should retreat. One mission was not worth my life. However, before I could decide whether to abandon the objective or continue, the tank came into view, a hulking mass sitting at the center of enemy lines.

With renewed urgency, I gave my thrusters a boost, and sped toward my target. Energon raced through my fuel lines. My engines shrieked, the sound shrill, piercing through the rumbling of cannons. My spark strummed. My senses heightened as deadly shots soared past my wings. I flung my frame into dangerous maneuvers, deep into the grasp of howling, scorching winds.

Skywarp popped into view, several wingspans in front of me. He shot down a few missiles, and disappeared as I surged past him over his helm. I was close now. Within kliks, I would reach the optimal range to shoot. Just as triumph dawned to my spark, a shout of alarm yanked the air beneath my wings.

"Starscream! Below you!" Skywarp screamed, so loud that his voice cracked to static. There was a missile blasting toward the underside of my alt-mode, converging with my flight path in less than a flicker of optic. I cried out, frantic, and did the only thing I could.

I transformed, twisting in midair. Panic struck me deep in the chassis as the missile soared past my hips, and coasted my left wing.

It almost tapped the tip of my limb. I fell, back first, plunging toward the ground in base-mode.

By a mere stroke of luck, the tank was right under me. Hurtling down in freefall, I stayed in base-form, and shot my null rays at anything that got too close. I turned in the air, movement aided by my wings, and paralyzed several Autobots in vicinity of my main target. A flashing, red warning appeared on my HUD. My proximity sensors blared, alerting me of impact. I flipped with a burst from my thrusters, peds swinging down, and landed right on top of the tank with a booming crash, knees buckling under the force of my descent.

I slammed onto the tank, bracing my fall with a hand. It hurt, but my thrusters had stalled my momentum enough that my joints did not suffer impact strain. As soon I caught my balance, I stood, and sought out the command hub buried deep in the fortress of cannons. The Autobots around me were too shocked to act, optics wide and lips apart, giving me just enough time to take my aim. With a triumphant, arrogant smirk, I lifted my arm, and fired. For one, glorious moment, time seemed to slow. My shot slipped between the barrels, and sank into the innards of the tank, where a gradual, growling rumble began to build.

That was my cue to leave. With a leap, I transformed, and took off in a straight line toward the sky. The air cracked as I broke the sound barrier. I did not even have the time to gloat before the tank exploded, loud and beautiful, an eruption of flaming parts in a burst of red that gobbled the Autobots in a single swallow.

I reached a safe altitude, and shifted back into root-mode. I floated in the air, reveling in the afterglow of my victory. My frame ached, most prominently in my wings, but I could not stop the massive grin from overtaking my faceplate. I stayed until the Autobots shook themselves out of their stunned stupor, and transformed back into jet-mode, flying in the direction with which I came in search for my trine mates.

I found Thundercracker circling the sky, dodging shots. Through the bond, I could feel a flicker of agitation, laced with worry and fear. Skywarp was nowhere to be seen, which I assumed was Thundercracker's source of turmoil. Curious, I accessed my bond, and felt around for the purple idiot until I stumbled into a pit of rage and pain.

What in the pits?

"Thundercracker, report!" I veered into base-mode.

"It's Skywarp." Thundercracker transformed as well, slowing to a hover beside me. "His thrusters are down, and he started losing altitude. I couldn't reach him in time, so he crashed, right into a group of Autobots." My trine mate's optics flashed, wide with distress. "Every time I ventured down, mechs shot at me. I brought down a few of them, but I did not have enough time to see what's happened to 'Warp."

"You didn't even _see_ him?" I asked, wing joints stiffening.

"No, there was too much smoke and debris. Shadows moved with the flames, so it was hard to catch a glimpse." Thundercracker glanced down, lips pursed. "What do we do, Star? We can't just leave him. 'Warp's pretty good with ground combat, but there was at least a dozen of Autobots around where he'd crashed, and many more stationed in proximity. As far as I know, his null rays still worked, but even those won't help him before he gets injured, or captured, or-or—"

I would have cut him off had he not done so himself. I've never seen my blue trine mate so rattled. His fists trembled, and his wings shook, tips pointed down. His ventilation was ragged, with wheezing intakes of air. He bit his lips, the corners of which quivered, and he kept his gaze locked on the landscape below us, optics keen, bright, searching for a pair of purple-striped wings he could not possibly spot this high up.

Skywarp could not deactivate. He simply couldn't. He was too much of a stubborn slagger to do something like that, and Pristinus has always told me idiots were exceptional lucky. Skywarp's spark signal was strong through our trine bond. He was obviously too distracted with what was happening on the ground to talk to us, but we knew he was very much alive.

:_Starscream to Vosian generals – the mission is a success._: I comm.-ed my subordinates. I needed to report in before coming up with a rescue plan for Skywarp. :_Casualty count – none. Thundercracker and I sustain minor injuries, but Skywarp has become grounded. Inform Megatron to proceed with the plan. I won't be available until Skywarp has been retrieved._:

:_Soundwave – receives._: Who in the pits asked _him_?:_Status of mission – forwarded. Plan – Proceeding._: Soundwave replied, but he was quickly shoved out of the conversation.

:_Bladeflight receives._: My Fighter Jet general spoke up. :_Sire, retrieval is too dangerous. Please allow me or one of the other generals to initiate rescue._:

:_Negative. I don't want to wait._: I shot the idea down. :_Our troops need their generals for maneuver coordination. I will retrieve Skywarp with Thundercracker's help. I am aware that grounded fliers, by military protocol, are not rescued. However, Skywarp is my trine mate, and as his trine leader, I am responsible for his safety. I can't leave him with the Autobots._:

:_Your Highness—_: Bladeflight tried to argue, but another voice cut him off in my defense.

:_Let it go, Old Blade. We're in no position to challenge him._: Ramjet's manner of speech was casual, but his tone was firm. :_It'd be difficult for any trine to leave behind a mate, and Skywarp's one of the only two Seekers in all of Vos that can actually keep up with Star. Besides, you _know_ none of us generals can leave our soldiers. The battle can tip either way at this point, and _technically_, Megatron outranks our Crown Prince, so we have our respective duties._:

:_Rank or not, I follow Vos, not _Kaon_._: Bladeflight spat out the name. Before Ramjet could reply, a third voice spoke up.

:_General_ _Bladeflight, you are wasting our time. We should be regrouping our forces, not stalling the battle._: Stormstrike's voice had enough bite to be snappish. :_We've already loitered long enough. Your opinions, while well-founded, do not outweigh Prince Starscream's decision. Stop dawdling over there and come back at once. Your lack of focus is unsettling the troops._:

:_I apologize._: Bladeflight did sound embarrassed and sorry. :_Please be careful, Prince Starscream. If you encounter any complications, I am available for contact._:

:_Affirmative._: I replied, a little impatient for the conversation to end. :_Starscream , out._:

:_All hail our Crown!_: Bladeflight responded before I terminated our contact. A little reassured from the undying loyalty of my fliers, I turned to Thundercracker.

"We will scout the area first, to locate Skywarp. Once we've assessed our situation, we will decide on our next move."

Thundercracker nodded. We both changed into our jet-modes, and flew down.

In the distance, I could hear the Decepticons beginning to mobilize and move in. Loud battle cries and blaring cannon blasts distracted the Autobots from looking skyward, so only a handful of enemy soldiers noticed my approach with my remaining trine mate. Shooting them down was easy, and, before long, we reached a good cruising altitude. We avoided laser shots, stray or intentional, and started our search for Skywarp.

Spotting him did not take long. Surrounded by five Autobots, our trine mate had his arms restrained by two, faceplate shoved down against the ground. Despite the blasters pointed at his helm, he struggled, snarling at the grounders around him. Just as I was about to signal Thundercracker to pull up so we could formulate a plan, he burst forward with a boom from his thrusters, and speared down toward our purple Seeker.

"Thundercracker! What in the pits are you doing?!" I was so surprised that I blurted aloud instead of using the comm..

"They're touching his wings!" Thundercracker's engine ground out a roar, null rays brightening with charge. "The sick fraggers are touching his wings!"

I did not notice that they were. However, upon closer inspection, the two holding Skywarp did have their hands pressed flat against his wings. They were obviously doing it to keep Skywarp down, not to molest him. I had no idea where Thundercracker's bout of rage had come from. This was so unlike him, and it alarmed me. I've never heard him growl with such aggression before.

I chased after Thundercracker, and caught up with him. However, any attempt I could have made to stop him was too late. The Autobots already saw us, but before they could even turn around, Thundercracker fired. He hit one of the grounders, who crashed into the dirt without so much as a grunt. His plating was not thick enough to withstand a null ray shot, so he deactivated, optics flickering to darkness. This triggered a chorus of angered cries. The Autobots swung up their weapons, and fired at us. At such low altitude, Thundercracker and I were well in range of the blasters. I cursed, and yanked up my nosecone, expecting Thundercracker to follow suit. To my utter shock, he did not. He charged toward the Autobots, straight into the throes of enemy fire.

Shots pierced through his wings, and left smoking holes. My blue trine mate did not even seem to notice, surging onward. I was so stunned by the utter absurdity of his actions that I transformed into base-mode and hovered, staring with widened optics at my impulsive trine mate, who hit another grounder straight in the chassis with a null ray blast. This Autobot did not deactivate, but he was paralyzed for at least a whole breem, which left only one grounder to restrain Skywarp.

Skywarp had noticed our presence by now, helm tilted up. He was gaping at Thundercracker, lips hanging apart, and I wondered if I looked the same, following my blue Seeker's frame with a gaze of disbelief. Seeing Thundercracker violent was very, very strange. For a long moment, I forgot about the battle. I floated at one spot in the air, completely vulnerable to attacks, and just stared.

Thundercracker's plating suffered a patchwork of burns and open wounds. His left wing bore a large gash slicing across the middle, leaving streaks of energon coating his blue-striped plating. It looked excruciating, but he didn't appear to care. He charged forward despite his injuries, and flung his frame into a transformation as he neared the Autobots.

The grounder restraining Skywarp let out an undignified yelp, scrambling to get out of the way, but he was too late. With a growling cry, Thundercracker rammed into him, and the two of them tumbled over the hill of debris, out of my view.

"TC! _TC!_" Skywarp's alarmed shouts jolted me out of my stupor. The teleporter was trying to get to our blue trine mate, but he was caught before he could, thrashing in the grip of another pair of Autobots. I sprang into action, rushing after Thundercracker. I did not bother transforming back to jet-mode. Being this close to the ground, having limbs was much more efficient.

More Autobots around the area noticed us, having heard Skywarp's yelling. They started to run in our direction, focusing on where I knew Thundercracker had fallen to, and I cursed, null rays whirring as I began my assault from above. I dealt out shots after shots, but more grounders kept coming. Narrowly avoid a short-range missile, I flew past the hill, and spotted the blue Seeker.

Thundercracker was rolling on the ground, in a fist-fight with the Autobot. He was clearly on the losing side, already pinned down on his back, but he refused to give up. Tugging up his legs, he curled his knees, and threw the grounder off with a blast from his thrusters. As soon as his opponent stumbled back, he leapt onto his peds, and tackled the Autobot.

Thundercracker was obviously not a fighter. His punches were poorly aimed and sloppy. They lacked the brutal surge of strength needed to make enough impact to deter an opponent, but that did not come as a surprise. Close-quarter combat was unnatural to fliers, not to mention it felt much more personal than raining bombs from above. Thundercracker was not a vicious mech, and the Autobot was a trained soldier – a trained soldier who knew exactly where to hit to hurt.

With a wrench at a wing, Thundercracker was brought down, crying out in pain. The Autobot reversed their positions, and straddled my blue trine mate, blaster a brisk click as it pointed straight at my Seeker's cockpit.

I froze.

Ice frosted the inside of my spark chamber.

"No! TC! _No!_" Skywarp screamed, bucking and kicking within his captors' arms, optics stretched wide with horror. "Don't you dare shoot, you slagger! Don't you fragging dare!" I had never before seen such desperation from my purple trine mate, and it gutted my core, a thud that struck me deep in the chassis.

I transformed, and veered back. I shot my null rays, so rushed that I could not even aim. Thundercracker was in danger. His life was threatened, and I was the only one of my trine still in the air. In alt-mode, I was much faster and more agile. Circling back, I fired again, never once stopping just to keep the Autobots away from Thundercracker and Skywarp. I could not shoot the grounder on top of my Wing Right. He was too close, and he was looking at me, as if daring me to try. The situation was on a temporary standstill, but I was running out of time. I needed a plan, a fragging good plan, if I wanted to get my trine to safety.

Slag it, why did Thundercracker act on impulse now of all times? This rescue mission would have been much easier if he hadn't charged in without thought. Without my trine mates, I was vulnerable. There was no one to watch my back as I flew, and if I was brought down, there would be no saving us. I was defenseless with my trine mates grounded. I couldn't do a damned thing. Autobots were gathering, even though they had to take cover from my rain of null ray fire. But how long could I keep this up? Eventually, my compact cannons would run out of charge. It would take time for my systems to recharge, and during that time, there would be plenty of opportunities for the Autobots to shoot me down.

I could not fare well on the ground. I was even more helpless than Thundercracker in close-quarter combat, despite my malicious streak. The Autobots would have me faceplate flat against the ground faster than I could recover from initial impact after a crash. If that happened, what then? I knew I would be kept away from harm, but what of my trine mates? What use would my trine mates have for the Autobots if they had _me_?

Skywarp was still struggling with his captors. Catching sight of him, an idea snapped together, aided by instinct. I changed my aim, and took down one of the grounders restraining my purple trine mate. With an eruptive cry, the teleporter shoved the other one, and dislodged the mech from his back. My intakes hitched. My fuel pump stalled. I watched, spark searing with anxiousness, and prayed that the result of the brawl to turn in Skywarp's favour.

With a swooping punch, Skywarp struck the Autobot in the nose-bridge. The grounder staggered back, energon spurting down his faceplate, and the teleporter took that moment to make a leap toward Thundercracker. I shot my null rays when the other Autobots tried to crowd my trine mates in, stalling them just long enough for Skywarp to lunge straight into the grounder pinning Thundercracker down. With a hard grunt, the grounder fell. Thundercracker groaned in pain, and crawled up onto unsteady peds, wings trembling in a downward tilt. He stood up, and lifted his shaky arms, compact cannons flaring online. He started to shoot at our enemies, backing up toward our purple trine mate, who was locked in a scuffle with the mech he'd knocked off.

Skywarp rolled with the grounder, dentae bared and optics blazing. He was much more relentless in a fist fight, skills undoubtedly honed in Kaon bar fights before the war. He hit the Autobot with blows that crunched upon impact. With an overhead strike by joined fists, he knocked the grounder out into stasis for good.

Laser fire and cannon blasts flew through the air, but I managed to keep the Autobots at bay. Primus must have been merciful to my trine during that night cycle. As soon as the grounder was down, Skywarp bolted toward Thundercracker, and latched onto him, disappearing with a puff of purple smoke. I pulled up my nosecone, and flew straight into the sky. A blaster nicked my tailfin, but I barely felt its bite on the peripheral of my sensory grid. A set of coordinates pinged from my trine's comm.-link. They were right above me, coming into view the higher I climbed. They were clutching each other, hovering by Thundercracker's thrusters. I reached them, and transformed, throwing my arms around them both.

Speech was unnecessary. The klik after, we were back on the tallest building of Praxus, where we had been standing prior to the mission.

Peds once again touching firm ground, I unraveled my arms around my trine mates, and let out a deep ex-vent of relief. I almost dropped to my knees. My resolve almost buckled. However, I forced myself to stay upright, keeping my joints locked by will alone. I was the trine leader. I was the Crown Prince. Despite the what-ifs racing through my processors, plaguing my thoughts, making a wreck of my spark, I could not fall. Not now. Not when the battle was still around us. Not until the night cycle has passed.

I could not let my guard down, not until I was back in Vos, alone in my berth chamber. Only then was I allowed to acknowledge the terror, the panic, fighting to boil over the surface. It was only when I was shielded from all optics could I experience the fear of losing my two most important Seekers to the blasters of the Autobots. My trine mates, on the other wing, had no such reservation. They collapsed as soon as we arrived back at the building, and clung on to each other as though an invisible force was trying to tear them apart.

Thundercracker clutched onto Skywarp, as if afraid that the purple Seeker was kliks from dissipating into thin air. My Wing Right started to cry. The full weight of his actions must have sunk in, when the rush of battle faded, bleeding the strength from his shivering limbs. We were lucky. We were damned lucky. All three of us managed to escape with only injuries to speak of, and even now, I could not comprehend _how_. Thundercracker must be suffering terrible bouts of guilt. His careless surrender to impulse almost got himself killed, and what would have been left for us, his trine, if he were taken from us.

It was a backlash he deserved. He _should_ feel guilty. However, as I watched him, tears staining his cheekplates, I simply couldn't muster the urge to be angry with him.

Skywarp held our blue trine mate. His wings trembled, and his optics were dark, shutters closed. Coolant gathered, but he refused to shed them. He bit his jaws, and swallowed the sounds fighting to burst though, a strangled gurgle inside his throat. He seemed to be in shock still. His frame was rigid. I knew what he was seeing behind offlined vision. My own spark shook at the very same imagery that must have played in his processors as well.

_Thundercracker on the ground, helpless, on his back._

_And The Autobot…pushing him down…_

_Pointing a charged blaster right against his brittle canopy…_

I shuddered, and gritted my dentae. Turning from my trine mates, I offlined my optics, and ran deep cycles of air through my intakes. I rubbed my faceplate, fighting to rein in my emotions. First things first. My trine mates needed medical attention. They were hurt worse than I was, and could very well bleed into stasis if they did not receive medical care right away.

Clearing my processors, I accessed the Vosian medical frequency. A new comm.-line opened prior to battle. It was given to all soldiers in case they become grounded and hurt. Pristinus had insisted to come along to Praxus, arguing that he would no longer allow any more fliers to deactivate due to lateness in proper treatment. He'd brought along a medical team, all members wearing the Cybertronian Seal of Exemption on their wings.

The Seal of Exemption signaled to all soldiers, flier or ground pounder, Decepticon or Autobot, that its wearers were medics, saving the wounded. This would, in theory, make sure the medics were left alone. However, accidents could still happen, as stray fire could also kill. I was blatantly against the idea of my Head Medic flying through battle sites. However, as always, Pristinus proved to be a persuasive and stubborn glitch, hence getting his way to bring his team to battle.

Skywarp could teleport both him and Thundercracker back to Vos, but I did not want to chance him warping such a distance under stress. :_This is Crown Prince Starscream,_: I connected to the frequency, and sent out a ping, :_requesting Commanding Medical Officer Pristinus._ _Respond with haste._:

:_CMO Pristinus receiving. All hail Prince Starscream._: Pristinus's familiar, gentle voice reached my audials, and I almost buckled out of relief all over again. :_What is it, Sire? Are you hurt?_: My medic asked, and I took another deep cycle of air before replying.

:_Negative, it's not me. It's my trine mates._: I glanced back at Thundercracker and Skywarp, running a quick scan of their conditions. :_Most of their injuries are minor, but they have several wounds that haven't stopped bleeding. Skywarp's thrusters are down, and Thundercracker has enough holes in his wings to render flying in alt-mode completely out of the question._: I sighed, spark getting heavier by each word. :_We are safe, for now, high enough to not be bothered. I'm sending you the coordinates to our current location._:

:_Coordinates received, your Highness._: Pristinus replied. :_Are they both conscious?_:

:_Affirmative._: I did not need to turn around to know. Thundercracker kept on making scared little noises, to which Skywarp returned with murmurs of comfort.

:_Any external signs of system failure, Sire?_: Pristinus asked next.

:_Negative._: I answered as I gave my trine mates another inspection.

:_Are they bleeding profusely?_:

:_Negative, but it hasn't stopped._:

:_Understood._: Pristinus paused for a klik. :_How about you, your Majesty?_: He asked.

I looked over my frame, and ran a quick diagnostic.

:_I'm still capable for battle._: I spoke with as much certainty as I had the ability to muster. :_My self-repair system is in the process of sealing minor ruptures and tears, but most of them are done._:

:_Understood._: Pristinus kept his professionalism, but he sounded a little relieved. :_How is your energon level, your Highness?_:

:_Approximately fifty-six percent._:

:_I will bring some emergency ration cubes, then._:

:_How long will you take to get here?_: I had to ask, even though rushing a field medic was impolite.

:_Not long, Sire, I promise you._: Pristinus always knew just what to say, and for that I was always grateful for.

:_Good,_: I nodded to myself. :_Be careful along your way._:

:_Affirmative, your Highness. By calculation, I will arrive in two breems._:

:_Understood,_: I started a timer. Watching the numbers click down was reassuring. :_Starscream, out._: I ended our call, and turned to my trine mates.

They were still huddled together, sitting on the dusty floor. Skywarp had onlined his optics. He was stroking Thundercracker's wings, a cheek pressed against the blue Seeker's helm. Thundercracker was leaning against the teleporter, a few drops of coolant lingering on his faceplate. To my alarm, his optics were dark. He was not moving at all, still as a statue and just as unresponsive.

"Thundercracker?" I called out, thrusters not daring to scrape even a wingtip.

Thundercracker remained motionless. However, his optics flashed to a dim glow, looking back at me with a dull flicker of light.

I heaved a sigh of relief, and felt the tension in my wings ease a little. I was still worried, but at least he was conscious. I studied his expression, and frowned. He appeared to be battling to stay awake.

"TC? How are you feeling?" I walked slightly closer, but kept a good distance. The way those two held each other made me feel like the odd one out, as though they had something I was not a part of. It was silly, of course, inappropriate for the situation. However, looking down at them, I could not shake the sensation off. The fact that they had not asked me to join them bothered me, even though I'd been the one who left it.

"Aside from the pain, I'm just glad we're all safe." Thundercracker whispered, and smiled, though the gesture did not reach his optics. "I'm sorry for the way I acted." His gaze lowered, and his smile became strained, the joints of his jaws visibly clenching.

"Are you having trouble staying awake?" I asked just to get his mind off from depressing matters.

"I'm…feeling tired." He sighed, and stared ahead. "I'm comfortable." He leaned against Skywarp, and the purple Seeker embraced him tighter.

"Try not to go into stasis." It was hard to not panic. "Pristinus will be here soon, in just a little over one breem. He's bringing emergency rations. Once you have some energon, you'll feel more awake."

"Y'hear that, TC?" Skywarp murmured, lips pressing against Thundercracker's helm as he tilted down his chin to peer at the blue Seeker's faceplate. "Pri's bringin' us his special home-brew high-grade!" He tried to joke, and made a poor attempt at his usual, careless laugh. "This' almost like deliv'ry service!"

Thundercracker's smile widened, optics brightening. He might have chuckled, but the sound was too quiet for me to catch. Regardless, he looked a little more awake, even going as far as sitting upright a little more. The next breem passed in silence. I comm.-ed Bladeflight to let him know we were alright. I stood watch over my trine mates, and kept a keen optic on the airspace around us, for the arrival a white Stealth Jet.

Below us, the battle raged. By now, the Decepticons has already pushed their way through half of the western Autobot front. Praxus has yet succumbed to flames, but within the next several joors, it would, despite how tenacious the Autobots were. Speaking of, they were a lot more organized than before. They have been using new strategies, and seemed to be, as a whole, more motivated and focused. This could very well be their determination for revenge, since they believed the Decepticons responsible for blowing up Cybertron's energon reserves. Primus knew what other lies the Senate told their people to fuel their hatred, just to convince a few more weak-willed civilians into joining their hypocritical, outdated cause.

However, despite the numerous possible explanations, I felt an uncomfortable itch that those were not it. The Autobots appeared to have regained their purpose, recovered direction. They had a look in their optics as they fought, a look aimless mechs simply could not have. This did not sit well in my spark. It prickled my flight sensors with suspicion. What could the enemy be up to?

A white dot appeared on my peripheral. Turning to the right, I spotted Pristinus in alt-mode, flying toward us at top speed. Nearing the building, he transformed, and landed without so much as a tap. A swift bow later, he approached me, and asked if he could run a quick scan on my frame.

I nodded. There was a low buzz, and a thin sheet of blue-tinted light spread from the Stealth Jet's one-spec visor. Skywarp and Thundercracker waited for Pristinus to finish, watching as the scan swept over me from helm to thruster.

"You're clear, your Highness." Pristinus smiled, and took out two small cubes from subspace. "Please drink this slowly," He handed me one of the cubes, "And keep one for the remainder of battle." He handed me the other, and dipped of his helm, "I will tend to your trine mates while you refuel, Sire."

I nodded in reply, dismissing him, and he walked to Skywarp and Thundercracker.

I peeled off the cover of the cube, and took a small sip. It was not as smooth as refined energon, but it was potent. I felt a rejuvenating tingle spread through my frame as soon as it hit my tank. Pristinus must have added something to make it so efficient. Very helpful, especially in war, and it did not taste half bad. I finished the cube, and placed the second one into subspace for later use, if necessary.

Pristinus knelt down next to my trine mates, and asked them to part from each other. Once they did, the medic started running numerous scans on Thundercracker, the weaker of the two, and made a few inquiries before requesting access to the blue Seeker's medical ports. Within ten breems, Pristinus had all of my trine mates' injuries patched up. He handed them three small cubes of energon each, and stood up, turning around to face me in report.

"Your Highness, your Wing Right and Wing Left are currently stable." He said. "However, I would highly advise that they return to Vos for treatment at a fully equipped medical bay. There are limits to how much work I can do on site. Returning to battle is unrecommendable for them."

Normally, my choice would be obvious. If the situation were any different, I would have told my trine mates to go to a med bay immediately. However, I was still obligated to stay in Praxus. Though my main objective has been accomplished, I was required to stay to oversee the progress of my fliers. My presence boosted morale, and sometimes that was what made the difference.

No Seeker liked entering battle without his trine mates.

"They cannot fly with me, even after the repairs and refuel?" I asked, shifting on my peds as I crossed my arms.

"By my medical expertise, no, Sire."

"Understood," I gave a brisk nod. "Thundercracker, Skywarp," I tilted my helm toward my trine mates, "you will return to Vos at once. Skywarp, are you still capable of teleportation?"

"Well, yeah, but," Skywarp frowned, and shared a glance with Thundercracker, "What about you? You're gonna be a Seeker without a trine. That's dangerous."

"_War_ is dangerous." I forced a hard edge into my voice, lips a firm line. "You will teleport to a med bay as soon as you finish your cube. Pristinus, will you stay with them until they leave?"

"Affirmative, Sire." Pristinus bowed his helm.

"Good," I nodded. "I need to return to battle. Megatron would not be pleased to see me absent for so long. I'm supposed to give him updates on the battle site." I paused as I caught the worried optics of my trine mates. I did not want to leave them, and they obviously did not want to see me fly away by myself, alone. My sentiments as trine leader clashed with my responsibilities as Crown. However, as always, my duties to my city came first. Without another look, I snapped around on my thruster heels, and strode to the edge of the building.

"Block the trine bond. I do not want any distractions." I barked out an order, words clipped to be heard over the wind. Perhaps I was too harsh. There were trickles of hurt from my trine mates, especially Thundercracker, just before I closed my end of our link. However, I did not turn around to reassure him. My resolve was hanging by a cable. Every step was a struggle, a weight dragging to stop me from returning to the pits below.

I neared the edge of the building, and prepared to take off. Just as I pushed onto the ledge, Thundercracker blurted out:

"Star! Wait!"

I stalled, but I did not turn to face him.

"Be careful." He was no longer hysterical, voice regaining to its usual smooth texture. I flicked a wing as acknowledgement, and leapt off from the building.

I transformed into jet-mode, the activation of my flight system a low rumbling compared to the shrieking of the wind. Right before I was doing to spear into the sky, I caught a quiet, murmured plea from my blue trine mate, one that I was certain he had not meant for me to hear:

"Don't do what I did for Skywarp."

The last components snapped into place. I shot through the howling currents, the building behind me dwindling into a blur of shadow in a mere few kliks. Thundercracker's words echoed in my processors, pulling taut the cables of my joints. For a long moment, I did not even notice the flames and explosions beneath me, awareness overtaken by shock trying to discern the implications behind that seemingly innocent statement.

The sudden collapse of a building jolted me out of my thoughts. Clearing my processors of my trine mate's words, I swerved in the air, and headed for the Helix Gardens. Most of my fliers were already on station there, either protecting the area from stray missiles or keeping any Autobots or civilians from entering it. Megatron's orders had been clear: no survivors. Those too weak to join us must perish, their energon spilled to pave the way for their superior to rule. Aside from the Helix Gardens, the city must face complete devastation. It was metaphoric to the Decepticon cause, the old way demolished and burned to the ground, nothing left except ashes serving as foundation of the New Age to come.

I neared the art district of the city. There was a significantly less amount of fire and debris here. There _was_, however, a much bigger crowd of dead bodies littered around. Very few of them were Autobots. They were mostly civilians, lying on the streets. What separated them from soldiers was that they were, on a large part, intact. They still had the correct number of limbs on the general consensus, and they weren't missing chunks of their frames, unless, of course, they were crushed under fallen buildings.

I lowered in altitude, and glided over the carnage. Looking at the faces of those deceased had always been a bit of morbid fun for me. Their faceplates contorted to the most exaggerated of emotions. There was a large grounder sitting by a broken piece of wall. He wore the most awful and optic-searing shade of green I had ever seen, and his mouth was a big gaping hole, optics stretched so wide that the glass cracked in the middle.

In his arms, he held a little bundle. The mech must have been wealthy. Fabric was ridiculously difficult to come by on Cybertron, and not many could afford it. Peeking through the folds of cloth was a small arm, motionless and outstretched. The cloth itself was stained with energon, and, right in the middle, was a round, scorched hole.

One shot.

It had penetrated through both sparkling and creator.

I hummed, impressed, and giggled when I glanced at the green mech's faceplate. Again, so exaggerated, and also very ugly. Thank Primus the grounder died. What if his sparkling inherited his terrible taste in paintjob, or – an even more horrifying thought – his facial features?

_That_ would truly be an abomination.

"Unit trine leader Cloudbolt reporting, your Majesty." A voice rang out behind me. "All hail Prince Starscream!"

I startled, and tilted up my nosecone, gaining altitude before circling back. There was a trine of Seekers hovering in root-mode, helms lowered with their hands placed on their canopies, right over their sparks. The trine leader was the one who'd spoken. I transformed as well, and floated above them, a few wingspans away.

"Rise." I waited for them to look up. "Are you of the patrol trines responsible for this sector? You look young. Not bad for a trine of new recruits. Very effective and clean shots."

"Affirmative, Sire. Thank you," Cloudbolt replied, bowing his helm once more in expression of gratitude. "My trine has been reassigned by General Ramjet to escort you to the Helix Garden, your Highness."

I was annoyed that Ramjet spotted me so quickly, as I'd wanted to snoop around a bit more. However, I decided to save these young Seekers the grief of begging me to go with them. With a nod, I transformed back into jet-mode, and kept my speed slow, until Cloudbolt's trine fell into formation around me. Cloudbolt himself went ahead, half a wing span below me but in front. His trine mates settled by my sides, also slightly lower as to not come within my wing space.

In less than a breem, I was escorted to the Helix Gardens. It was a massive dome, constructed entirely by crystal. It looked fragile, as though the slightest touch would topple its structure. However, it was very sturdy, supported by geometric shapes. A masterpiece designed by one of the greatest Cybertronian architects, Eisodos, the Helix Gardens was the epitomic manifestation of the Golden Age. Various artworks lay interspersed within the dome. Only the most prestigious had the honour of placing their creations inside it, elevating the cultural worth of the garden to unprecedented degree.

Another main attraction it held was the rare crystals, blue in colour, mined from an alien colony planet. They hung suspended in the air, and would sing in harmonious, resonating dings upon receiving a specific pitch by striking two pieces of cylindrical metal together, located at the center of the garden. Their song marked the beginning of every vorn, attracting audience from every corner of the planet. The last time I'd attended was just before my space expedition with Skyfire. He had stood beside me as I struck the initial note, optics glimmering brighter than even the orbs of light around us, floating above like bursts of stars.

I approached the top of the dome, where my generals were, watching their troops. The bulk of my soldiers were stationed around the garden, creating a fortress of fliers. Ramjet and Stormstrike bowed upon my arrival. Bladeflight hailed my designation. I instructed them to rise, and the Conehead of the three floated closer, dismissing Cloudbolt and his trine before turning toward me with a frown on his faceplate.

"Where are your trine mates?" He asked, and gave me a look. "Did you lose 'em again?"

"No!" I snapped. "They got hurt, so I sent them back to Vos."

Ramjet nodded. "You should stay with us then." He gestured behind him with a small wave. "It's dangerous for a Seeker to fly without trine mates."

"I don't need _you_ telling me." I grumbled, and crossed my arms, sending the two Conehead Seekers behind him a glance.

They were Ramjet's trine mates, Thrust and Dirge. They were close, but they hung back by rule of etiquette, since I was a Seeker currently without a trine. The two of them bowed, and I returned their greeting with a nod, the back of my neck cables stiff. Despite my rank and obvious superiority, I felt a little intimidated, as they were the Conehead Command Trine and I was alone. Seekers hated being within proximity to another trine without his own wing mates. It did not feel natural, and Ramjet's trine mates were big, with wide wings any soldier would blatantly boast of. The fact that Ramjet was courting me made the situation even more awkward. I felt as though his trine mates were assessing me. The slaggers. Shouldn't it be the other way around?

"Is the area secured?" I ignored the two optic-sores, and addressed my general. "No infiltration from the Autobots?" I refused to acknowledge the bubble of nervousness in my spark, and stretched my wings into a haughty perk on my back.

"Negative, Sire," Ramjet answered. "However, a small number of civilians snuck past our defenses."

I stared at the Conehead.

"Is this a joke?" My lips curled in displeasure. "You kept out the Autobots but couldn't stop a few ground pounder _civilians_?"

"They were many, your Highness." Ramjet let out a blast of air, and dipped his helm. "They came in a wave. Four hundred or so adult frames running toward the garden from all direction at once. We took out most of them, but about fifty went inside the dome."

I sighed, and looked down, trying to peer through the crystal ceiling. Within kliks, I spotted the group of Praxians, huddled together in a corner. They were filthy, covered in dirt and burn marks, leaking puddles on the floor. I sneered. Just the mere _thought_ of those revolting bodies contaminating the beauty of the Helix Gardens churned my tank, searing the insides of my spark chamber with disgust.

"Confrontation will be inevitable if we were to send in strike teams, which is why we're leaving them alone for now." Ramjet explained. "Even civilians retaliate when threatened, which would undoubtedly result in harm to the artworks, if not the garden itself."

Stupid civilians. They complicated everything.

With a hiss of frustration, I sought out Megatron's comm. frequency, and sent him a ping. He did not reply, so I sent him another, wings flicking as I waited, impatience gnawing at my spark. When I sent a third ping and still received no reply, I became anxious. Nothing could have happened to him, could it? He was Supreme Commander, not without subordinates who would throw themselves in harm's way just to save his life. But then again, Megatron was rather unconventional. Most of the time, _he_ was the one charging forward in the frontlines of battle, leading his Decepticons by example as he tore apart the Autobots.

Gritting out a curse, I turned away from Ramjet, who had started to stare at me like I'd lost a circuit. I sent a fourth ping, and marked it with an emergency beacon, hoping that it would catch his attention. Just as the moment began to drag, the line connected, and I could not stop myself from sighing in relief.

:_What _took_ you so long?_: I yelled at him.

:_I'm busy._: He said.

:_We _all_ happen to be _busy_ at the moment, Megatron,_: I retorted, :_But communication is vital if you—_:

:-_Report to me later._: He cut in, and severed our line, leaving behind a buzz of flat static.

…the frag?!

Disbelief and utter shock at his atrocious treatment of my person stole my speech. Several long kliks passed before I remembered to be angry at him, for brushing me off with such little care. I growled, and clenched my hands into fists. The slagger dared to ignore me in the middle of battle! What if I'd become grounded and needed backup? Was he just going to leave me there? To deactivate? I sent him ten successive pings as quickly as he could, and when he gave no response, sent ten more.

:_I'm _busy_, Starscream!_: He finally answered, voice a snarling bellow. :_You're becoming an actual distraction than a mere nuisance._:

:_I don't care!_: I shouted back. :_You _will _answer me when I comm. you, Megatron! I don't care if you're—_:

He cut me off again.

The slag-helm!

Optics narrowing, I tapped into the Vosian military line.

:_Soundwave, report! What is Megatron's current location?_:

There was a slight pause before Soundwave answered.

:_Current location of Decepticon Supreme Commander, Lord Megatron – Western quadrant of Praxus, in motion to north-west. Availability – Limited; compromised by battle._:

:_I didn't _ask_ you whether he's available or not._: I spat out, glaring out at the city. :_Give me his coordinates._:

:_Approximate coordinates – provided._: A data burst accompanied Soundwave's reply, and I logged it into my processors.

:_Received. Starscream, out._: I left the line, and turned around to address my generals. With a small start, I realized that they were already looking at me, having heard my conversation with Soundwave over comm..

"I need to make a report to our most esteemed supreme commander, who is obviously too important to talk to me through simpler methods of communication." I flicked my wrist in the air before addressing my fliers. "Continue guarding the dome, and ensure that no other civilians reach the Helix Gardens."

"As you command, Sire." Bladeflight replied, bowing his helm. "However," He wore a frown as he straightened, "is making a flight just to deliver a status report truly necessary? I do not mean to challenge you, your Highness, but if you must fly into the battle site, may I suggest the allowance of a trine of Seekers to escort you?"

"Unless you can find me a trine that can match my speed, I'm going alone." I did not mean to sound snappish, but I was annoyed from being cut off twice by Megatron. "My decision has been made. Return to your duties."

Bladeflight was not pleased, but he nodded, and bowed again with the other generals. Ramjet's optics followed me even as I transformed and flew away. I could feel his gaze on my plating as I took off. It prickled my sensory circuits with discomfort, though I tried my best to ignore it.

I rose higher in altitude, and took a large sweep of the city with my visual sensors. Below me, structures collapsed. Buildings fell, and the fire roared, sucking the air from under my wings. I could see shadows against the remnants of devastation, rushing through the flaming ruins in desperate hope to escape. Missiles and shells exploded as they touched the ground. Bursts of light licked the underside of my alt-form, and the heat wrapped its claws around my frame, stroking my plating with teasing caresses.

I reached the location of the coordinates Soundwave had provided for me. However, I did not see Megatron. I hovered, and peeked through the smoke for a better look at what was happening on the ground. From what I could see, the Decepticons were still grappling with the Autobots, though our enemy was starting to struggle. I turned up the sensitivity of my auditory sensors, hoping to catch the familiar, bellowing voice of my lord. However, I could not hear anything even remotely similar to his vocal timber. There was no reason for Soundwave to lie. This could only mean that Megatron had moved on.

An explosive boom that shook the air caught my attention. It was the sound of the fusion cannon, blasting at full capacity. A distant building crumbled, and I knew I had found him. With a brisk veer, I flew in his direction. In less than a breem, I reached the source of the commotion, and, this time, I spotted him right away.

Megatron was barking orders at his mechs, splitting them into groups before sending them off. To my surprise, he ended up alone. This could either mean that this area was already Decepticon territory, or that he was simply too much of an arrogant aft to realize that the lord of a faction should never wander at a battle site all by himself.

I dipped my nosecone, and started my descent with a burst of speed from my thrusters. The screeching of my engines must have alerted him of my arrival, for he stopped his leisurely stroll, and turned his helm up. I flew past him overhead before circling back, transforming in midair when I neared him. I glided into a hover above him, and crossed my arms over my chassis, a scowl on my lips.

"Are you glitched or just stupid?" I gritted out the words. "As our _leader_, you already have a ridiculous ransom you are not nearly worthy of in the slightest hanging over your helm, and going solitary only makes you an even easier target."

"I can say the same about you, Starscream." He replied, regarding me with mild interest. "I'm surprised you don't have your trine mates with you." He gave me another look, and frowned, lifting a hand to wipe off a large splatter of energon on his faceplate. The thick coating of glowing fluid hindered his vision, and his rubbing only left a bigger smudge. I scoffed through my vents, and made to land.

"Stop that! You're making it worse." My peds touched the ground, and I strode toward him, vents in a huff. "Do you not even have a polishing cloth on you?" I drawled, and took mine out from subspace. "Seriously…Hold _still_." I tugged down his arm, and reached for his faceplate. Surprisingly, he listened to me, motionless as I cleaned the glass of his optic, the fabric soaking up the drying fuel in one stroke.

"There, better?" I threw the dirtied cloth at his face. "Keep it, a souvenir." I propped up my hands on my hips. "I'm not touching _anything_ that's touched _you_." I sneered, wings flicking twice on my back.

The cloth bounced off his faceplate. Megatron caught it as it fell. He arched a brow ridge at me, but he did not comment. He folded up the cloth, and tossed it into his subspace.

"Why are you not with your fliers?" He asked. He did not sound like he was pleased to see me. I was deviating from the plan, and he did not like surprises without his permission.

"I'm not with my fliers because a certain scrap-for-processors wouldn't answer my comm.." I bit out, lips curling.

"I did answer you." He replied, optics in a dim, unimpressed glow.

"Only to cut me off!" I yelled at him, bristling in indignation, and swung up an arm to point at his faceplate. "I refuse to tolerate such behaviour committed against me!"

Megatron stared at me for a full, silent klik. He scrunched his nose-bridge, and yanked his helm to the side as through disgusted, field swelling in exasperation. He sent a blast of air through his vents, and shook his helm as though he could not understand what my problem was. Without another word, he strode forward, and shoved me aside, out of his way.

I yelped, stumbling on my thruster heels as they tripped over small pebbles on the ground. I almost fell on my aft, and only managed to catch myself by graceless hops. Regaining my balance, I swirled toward the slagger, wings shooting up on my back.

"Megatron!" I shouted, throwing my fists down to my sides. "How _dare_ you brush me off without an answer! I _demand_ an explanation!"

He continued to walk away, helm tilting side to side, _ignoring me_. I narrowed my optics, and stomped after him.

"I'm talking to you!"

"Silence your vocalizer!" He snarled down at me, tossing me a glare. "Are you trying to announce our locations to every Autobot in Praxus?"

"I'll silence it when I have my answer!" Just to spite him, I raised my voice, and ran ahead to block his path. "I want an apology!" I stood in his way, fists on my hips, canopy puffed up.

Megatron stared down at me, optics piercing bright against the shadows drenched over his faceplate. "I told you I was busy, as I am now, Starscream." He growled, dentae bared. "_Get out_ of my way."

I only crossed my arms, and refused to budge. His scowl grew more pronounced. He lifted his right arm, and stuck the barrel of the fusion cannon right at my faceplate.

I jumped, sneer morphing into a gape of shock and disbelief. He could not possibly—

"_Move._" He ground out through gritted dentae, voice a rough scrape of syllables, and the fusion cannon whirred into activation.

Startling with a yelp, I skipped aside. He gave me one last look, and continued on his stroll, not sparing me another glance.

Pride hurt, I sulked, and watched him walk away. I was waiting for him to turn and tell me to follow him, but he kept going, further and further away, as though I was not here at all. Grumbling about how much of a fragger he was, I heaved a huff, and relented, trotting after him. I slowed down as I reached his side, and gave him broody glances.

"I came here to give you my report." I spoke with a brisk tone, squaring my shoulders. "My fliers have secured the Helix Gardens, and set up a perimeter around the dome. They terminated all Autobot attempts at entering the premise, and I haven't received further alerts of enemy activity on site. Praxian civilians tried to breach the perimeter. Most of them were shot down."

"Most of them?" Megatron glanced at me with a minute incline of his helm.

"Approximately fifty civilians made it inside the garden." I explained. His optics narrowed, and I looked away, hurrying to continue. "They're hiding inside the dome, and they have no way out. It'll be easy to starve them to deactivation. Most of them would have at least received injuries. It won't take long for them to bleed out."

Megatron did not look like he was satisfied with my plan. However, before he could voice his displeasure, a shot burst from one of the buildings, and struck him straight through the shoulder. More shots followed, raining down upon us. Oddly enough, none of them seemed to be aiming toward me, those that had missed Megatron pounding into the ground.

"What—?!" I jumped, and snapped around, trying to locate the snipers.

I did not get a chance to look.

Megatron grabbed me by a wing, and yanked me to the side of the street, grunting as a blast seared the side of his torso. I cried out in pain, pulling away and struggling, and punched him straight in the burn, screeching at him to let go or tell me what the frag was going on. However, aside from a wince and a glare, he paid me no mind. He threw me into a crook under a fallen piece of wall, and shoved me in with a ped. My back hit solid metal. My wings clattered. I groaned, and lifted my helm, giving the place a sweep.

The space was _tiny_. I tried to shuffle out, only to have my exit blocked by a chunk of dead-weight grounder crawling inside the hole after me.

"What in the pits do you think you're doing?!" Hysterics seizing my spark, I scrambled onto my knees, and slapped at his faceplate to get him out of the way. "I have to get out! I have to get out!"

"Stay _still_." He hissed, optics floating orbs of fire. "We are within range of Autobot snipers."

"And your brilliant plan of combat is to hide in a filthy hole while they send in their ground forces to dig us out?!" My voice rose an entire octave as I pushed against him with my shoulder. "Get out of my way!"

"What is the matter with you?!" Megatron shoved me back with an arm against my canopy. I toppled onto my aft, and squeaked in fright when my wing tips scratched against the ceiling.

"I can't stay here!" I tugged at his arm. "There's not enough _space_!" I kicked him with my thrusters. "Primus-_damnit_ Megatron," The edges of my vision dotted with black, "I'm going to panic if you don't let me out!"

The space was shrinking, pressing down, choking my intakes and clamping down around my chassis.

"You'll be shot down if I let you out!" He retorted, not budging in the slightest.

"And whose fault is that, you slagger?!" I tried to keep the fear out of my voice. "I _told_ you it was a bad idea to wander around like an aimless idiot! And what did you do? Wandered around like an aimless idiot! You _never_ listen to me! _That's_ what your problem is! Now let me out before I lose my logic circuits and blast your ugly faceplate with my null rays!"

"Shut _up_, Starscream!" He gritted, vents a roar of hot air. Before I could tell him just where to shove it, he grabbed me by the chin, and slapped a hand over my lip components.

Protests muffled, I tried to yank his hand away. My efforts were futile. He leaned forward, and pressed me right into the back of the crook. Stuck between the grainy surface of a fallen wall and his hard, scratched chassis, I squirmed and struggled, shrieking into his palm. My wings rattled against the debris, and I cursed him in my processors, to distract myself from the horrors of being forced into a tiny, dark hole.

Fortunately, I could still see the exit, and that made me feel a little better. I focused on the sight, purging all other thoughts, and after a while, I started to calm, the world brightening into clarity around me. Only then did I realize Megatron was speaking to me, voice low, hushed.

"—confirm my suspicion." He whispered. At first, his words made no sense. Eventually, however, I began to understand them.

"I'm sure you have noticed by now that the Autobots are different, compared to the last time we fought them." He murmured, lips next to my right audial. "Soundwave contacted me about a transmission he'd intercepted earlier in battle. It contained something of great interest to me, and I'm here to confirm the validity of its claims. If it is indeed true," His lips spread, "The war is about to change for the better."

I gave his wrist a tug, and shook off his hand on my mouth. "Has it ever occurred to you that maybe it is a trap?!" I hissed in reply, trying to ignore how warm his chassis was against my canopy.

"Perhaps," He sounded amused, "But this won't be a trap if we trap them in return."

I froze as his words and their implication sank in. Megatron was not wandering alone because he was an idiot. He was trying to catch the attention of the Autobots on purpose, wagering on the fact that he was one of their main targets. He was, simply put, the bait, and I had unknowingly joined him in his attempts at luring out whatever he had come here to see.

"Why didn't you tell me about your plan since the start, you aft?" Peeved, I smacked his chassis, and scrunched my nose bridge. "Now I'm stuck being bait _with_ you."

"Your presence is convenient, so I saw no reason to turn you away when you clearly wanted to stay." Megatron was a little too pleased. I huffed, and jerked my faceplate away, wiggling in what little room I had to move. "There is still a chance that the Autobots will deactivate me on sight," He continued, "but _you_, Starscream, have no such luxury."

Oh joy.

They'd probably trial me first before deactivating me.

"If my prediction can be trusted," Megatron turned toward the mouth of the hole, "the Autobots will be here very soon."

As though taking that as a cue, the air rippled, currents disrupted by frames sneaking up around us. My wings flicked. Their tips bumped into the ceiling of our hiding place, and I flinched, cursing their inborn reflex to catch more information. Tiny disturbances fleeted through the cable cracks of the fallen wall. There were at least a dozen of ground pounders, surrounding us. They were big and heavy, military builds with added weight from their weapons. They were trying to be discreet, but they had no way of escaping my notice, not when they blocked the natural circulation of air.

"The Autobots are here." I whispered to Megatron, and the responding tilt of his helm told me he had yet noticed their arrival. I bit back a scathing comment about the inferiority of ground pounders, and waited with no small amount of anxiousness for the enemy to make their move. I was more than ready to get out of this stupid hole. I would much prefer facing a whole unit of Autobots than having to stay in a ditch.

"Decepticons, we have you surrounded." A voice called out. "Power down your weapons, and proceed out of your refuge with them in plain sight, barrels down. Any signs of hostility will result in deadly force."

Megatron leaned away. We shared a look. With more grace than I'd expected, the ex-gladiator backed out, and I shuffled after him, pushing upright as soon as I could.

Wings flicking in pleasure at being freed from the tiny hole, I ran a cycle of air through my system, and took a sweep around. There were fourteen Autobots altogether, weapons drawn and charged. They stood in a semi-circle, trapping Megatron and I against the side of a half-collapsed building. All of them wore scowls of disdain on their faceplates, except for a black and white mech. That one was odd. He had panels sticking out of his back. If I remembered correctly, "door wings" were specific to the natives of Praxus. However, this grounder did not look like he cared at all about the fire tearing his city apart, expression bare, calm, optics dim.

A direct contrast to the red one next to him, who was glaring at Megatron as though he wanted to shove his cannons double the size of his arms down the ex-miner's throat.

The red grounder caught me looking, and smirked, tilting to aim one of the cannons to my helm. I quirked a brow-ridge, and stared, unimpressed by his poor attempts at intimidating me. I had faced the barrel of the fusion cannon. There was nothing else that could possibly frighten me.

"Decepticons, state your designations." The black and white mech spoke. He was the one who had addressed us before we came out of hiding. My wings fluttered in annoyance at his words, and I made a face.

"You don't even know who we are?" I drawled before Megatron could answer, and sent the Praxian a haughty glare. "If you do not recognize us, then you are obviously not privileged to know of our designations."

Megatron's energy field flared against mine, undoubtedly irritated at how I acted out of my rank. However, he did not speak or move. He stood still, and watched the Autobots, posture as though facing an opponent in the arena.

"I repeat: state your designations, Decepticons." The black and white mech spoke again. His expression didn't change even a sliver. I sent him a pointed glance, and curled my lips into an amused smirk.

"_No_." I replied, leaning forward as I uttered the word.

"Designations, Decepticons. I will not ask again." He raised his blaster higher, but I did not give it a single flicker of optic.

"What do you plan to do if we _don't_, Autobot?" I crossed my arms over my canopy, and slid my peds apart, hips cocked to one side. "Shoot us?" My smirk spread into a grin, and I barked out a laugh. "_Please_, don't play us for fools. You obviously know who we are, which is why you are only waving your pesky little blasters as though they are worth a threat." I flipped a wrist in the air. "We know you can't harm us."

"I wouldn't be too sure about that, you little glitch." The red grounder spat out, and his cannon churned with a low whirr. However, before it could form a blast, another voice interrupted, stopping him.

"Stand down, Ironhide."

The command was firm, but it carried no force. It came from behind the ring of Autobots, from a mech not yet in view. The voice was deep, and it held a warm, rumbling timber. It had the authority of a leader, controlled and unwavering, but it also sounded weary, if not a little unsure, as though the mech did not truly want to be here, in Praxus, in the middle of destruction and pit-fire. I did not have the time to dwell on my thoughts. Steady ped-falls at an even, measured pace announced the arrival the speaker, and the semi-circle of Autobots parted, shuffling aside, allowing him through.

The mech was tall, almost at the same height as Megatron. He was mostly blue and red, with white hips and pale thighs. His arms hung by his sides, one fist loose and the other around a blaster, which was pointed to the ground. His stance was strong, but not invasive. His entire demeanor lacked the hostility his subordinates reeked of, appearing curious, as he strolled forward until he strayed well into the reaching range of an attack.

I leaned back a little, and gave him a once-over, brows furrowed. Was he bold or just stupid? At this distance, Megatron could easily grab him by the faceplate and rip out his neck cables. Was this a challenge? Or an attempt at amicability? It was difficult to tell, as his faceplate was hidden behind a mask, features blocked from sight. However, his optics were bright and expressive, shining like blue beacons. They met Megatron's before falling to mine. There was an unreadable look in them, as if he recognized me, beyond just photo stills or video files from the channels.

But how?

I certainly didn't know who _he_ was.

"Decepticon Commander Megatron, Crown Prince Starscream," He addressed us, catching our optics in turn, each time making a respectful nod. "You are now under Autobot custody. Please allow officer Prowl to relieve you of your weapons." He gestured to the black and white mech with the door wings. "I would like to avoid confrontation if possible."

I narrowed my optics at him, null rays activating with a quiet hum. The sound was buried under the noise of ongoing battle, and I sent the codes for my compact cannons to charge, preparing for a fight. My flight sensors turned up to top-level sensitivity, to monitor the Autobots' movement. Every mech was still, however. Even Praxian seemed to be waiting for something, despite having been ordered to retrieve our weapons.

By my peripheral, I kept a keen look on Megatron. He did not move. He did not speak. He only studied the Autobot before us, stance neutral, betraying no sign of submission or retaliation. His optics burned, as though he had noticed something I haven't. Fed up with the silence, I blew out a sigh, and broke it with a small, pondering hum.

"Our reputation precedes us, mighty leader." I relaxed my joints, and plastered on a smirk, the gesture a mere stretch of derma. "Perhaps this little Autobot is an avid admirer of ours." I teased, watching the blue and red mech with glimmering amusement.

"Why you—" The red one stepped forward, engine growling, but his superior stopped him with an outstretched arm.

"Please acknowledge my request," The facemasked Autobot dipped his helm once more, "And comply without trouble."

"I fail to see why I should acknowledge anything you say, ground pounder." My smirk fell, and I pinned the mech with a hard glare. "You have yet introduced yourself, and I do not like wasting my time with a stranger." I stretched my wings to their full span, and stood higher on my thrusters. "As you are aware, I am Crown to my people. My status requires appropriate conduct, which I expect you to follow accordingly."

The Autobot tilted his faceplate toward me. Once again, there was a strange glint in his optics, and I did not like that at all. I narrowed my gaze, lips curling into a scowl. He seemed to shake himself out of his thoughts, and straightened on his peds, finally making an introduction:

"I am Optimus Prime, Commanding Officer of the Autobot Security Forces." He stated. "I apologize for my tardiness at introducing myself. I was surprised I have the chance to meet you so soon on the battle field."

A Prime.

He was a Prime.

The next Prime, to be exact, taking up the mantle after Sentinel.

So _this_ was what Megatron had wanted to confirm.

I have always known it was only a matter of time before the next Prime came into existence, but I had not expected this grounder in front of my optics to be it. Optimus, as he was called, shared little with Sentinel aside from his title. I did not need to personally know either of them to tell how different they were from each other. Perhaps Optimus was still getting used to being prime, unfamiliar with his new responsibilities. He hasn't been Prime for long, after all, and Primus knew what the matrix actually did to a mech. The bot before me had an absentminded air about him. Maybe he was still overwhelmed. Becoming Prime in the middle of a war would be stressful and confusing for anyone, but I did not feel very sympathetic.

This was the enemy.

If Optimus was anything like Sentinel at all, Megatron could bring him down.

"Optimus Prime…" Megatron spoke up for the first time since our capture, rolling the designation on his glossa, tasting every syllable. He grinned at the Prime, the expression a malicious leer, obviously delighted at the arrival of an adequate foe. "I am pleased. The Autobots appear to have, at last, gained a commander of some gut, to stand before me without cower." His optics narrowed, sparks crackling around the edges of his vision. "I hope you are capable, that you can pose a threat. The war has been dull as of late," a deep snarl of words, "without any challenges for me and mine."

Optimus stared at my lord. "I am not looking to expand the fire of destruction by meeting you in equal force, Megatron." He replied, respectful but firm. "The Senate has their take on the war, and I have mine."

I frowned, and glanced at Megatron. The ex-gladiator must have shared my confusion, for his grin dropped, amusement bleeding from his energy field. Even the other Autobots were glancing at each other, uncomfortable with what their leader was saying.

"My wish is to protect the civilians, but I do not want to fight you." The Prime continued to speak, meeting Megatron's optics with a gentle, almost imploring gaze. "I have reviewed your cause, and I agree with many of your criticisms on the Senate system. You are correct. There are many faults to be found. Our current political establishment caters to few, and overlooks many, most of which you have gathered under your leadership.

"You guide your soldiers with promise of freedom. Freedom is what I hope to protect. I am more than willing to negotiate with you if you would only allow me." He took a step forward. "Violence is not the only option, Megatron. I do not wish to see any more lives senselessly lost in a struggle that can be resolved through pacifistic means." He shook his helm, optics open, unguarded, clear pools of blue. "_Please_, consider my request."

Optimus Prime was the complete opposite of Sentinel. That was for certain. Sentinel would not have hesitated for even a split klik to restrain Megatron and I before sending us on trial. He probably would have executed us on the spot if the Senate has given him the clearance. He would've never _talked_ to us, especially not about freedom and peace.

_This_ was what the matrix chose? What _Primus_ chose?

Was Optimus a joke? Some kind of cosmic experiment?

"Let us observe what would happen should a mech who'd make a better clerk than a Prime come faceplate-to-faceplate with a violent, wrathful, spark-crushing ex-gladiator turned revolutionary".

That would make a lot more sense than this colourful grounder standing before us, beaming at my lord as though expecting him to just—…

…just…

_Give up_.

Megatron lost all traces of humour, expression a cold fortress. I could not tell what was going through his processors. However, I had a good guess that his thoughts were most definitely ones Optimus would not want to hear. I was fairly sure that Megatron was disappointed, though. As he had said so himself, he had been looking for an opponent worthy of challenge. Yet here that opponent was: looking at him and wanting sit down and have a chit-chat over a glass of chilled, refined energon.

"You say you have reviewed my cause," Megatron finally replied, a long, silent moment later, voice grainy with chips of ice, "But you understand nothing." His lips curled, slowly, stretching trenches of shadow into his derma as he continued, tone deceptively calm. "Violence has never been an option. It is a _choice_," He growled, a low, hissed timber, "A choice willingly taken. _Choice_, which had once been robbed from us, until we declared it no more a commodity of privilege, and wrangled it between our digits, into our grasp." His hand clenched into a tight fist, the fusion cannon activating with a hum of heat.

"…Those too blind to join my cause will perish. Those too weak to survive my war do not deserve to live." His red optics sweltered, their piercing resolve mirrored in his words. "There is nothing to negotiate between us." He stated. "I will not compromise. I will not submit. Cybertron will rebuild the way I deem fit. If you think me wrong," He stared at the Prime, "I will spare you the pleasure of a quick death."

Optimus Prime was silent for several long kliks. He looked surprised, perhaps even a little sickened by the brutality behind Megatron's words. Slowly, as though the meaning behind those words finally sank in, his gaze became withdrawn, almost reluctant to believe what he had heard.

"Then…you are a tyrant, Megatron," The Autobot leader whispered, "and there will be no freedom for your people." He spoke with pauses, as if the thought disappointed him, saddened him, optics dimming to a mere shimmer. "…There will be no peace for you."

Megatron remained firm, immovable.

"A short-sighted observation, Prime." His voice rumbled deep in his chassis, optics bright like suns, unyielding to any whim but their own.

"_Peace through tyranny_," He bit out, and smiled – a cruel smile. "_That_,' He said, "will be _mine_."

Megatron lunged.

The movement was a complete blur, and the next thing I knew, the Autobots were shouting, spitting curses as their Prime fell, clutching his left arm. The limb was hardly attached to the shoulder anymore, hanging by a few cables. Energon spurted like a fountain, and Optimus gritted a pained cry, optics widening as the bright barrel of the fusion cannon lit up his faceplate.

Gunfire erupted around us. Shots rained down from above, in all direction, targeting the Autobots. The fusion cannon fired. A cry of agony speared through the commotion. Optimus escaped deactivation with a massive hole in his abdomen. Megatron was grappling with the red mech with the cannons, snarling at the Prime to fight his own battles. I chose that moment of confusion to leap into the air, and transformed into jet-mode. I soared straight up into the sky, and swerved back with a flip, unleashing my own wave of blasts at the enemy below.

There were several units of Decepticons surrounding the proximity. One of them was Soundwave, who was ejecting his drones from his chassis. Two of such "drones" turned out to be the insufferable twins I had met once upon a misfortune in Kaon. The glitch-balls hackled before jumping onto an Autobot, and started tearing out cables and wires with sadistic glee.

Laser shots sailed over my wings, startling me out of my observations. I hissed out a curse. I was careless, and one of the shots had grazed my right wing tip, which left a persistent sting over my neural network. I growled, the sound lost under the screeching cry of my engine. Veering around in the air, I sought for the source of the attack, and rolled to the left to avoid another web of shots.

Autobot snipers, they were the ones targeting me. I spotted them, all five of them, dotted in high-rises a kilo-span away. With a boost of energy to my thrusters, I shot off, flipping in the air to avoid the laser fire flying toward me. As soon as I came within range, I aimed my null rays, and caught two of them right in the helm before diving down to elude collision, the belly of my alt-mode close enough to brush the outer wall of the building as I readied my next attack.

A booming blast struck the bottom of the structure. It began to crumble. Righting my nosecone, I saw Megatron, who was bringing down every building in range of his cannon, with the Autobots still in them. He wore a fresh coat of glowing energon, and I wondered which bots had the honour of becoming his victims this time around. I circled the building, mid-collapse, and found the snipers I'd hit. They were both dead. Snipers were not the sturdiest of mechs, hiding at safe distance to sneak a shot at an enemy.

The building groaned. Its struts buckled under the weight. I flew out of the way, and gave the area a quick scan before approaching Megatron, who was looking at me, fusion cannon swirling smoke at his side.

"You stole my kill." I snapped at him as soon as I came within audial range, and transformed to hover in the air. "I was planning on dealing with those snipers." I glared at my commander, arms crossed. "One of them grazed my wing." I flicked the said wing, which pinched in a prickling throb.

"There are more important matters at hand than your personal vendetta, Starscream." Megatron was obviously not in the mood for insubordinate behaviour. "You reported earlier that civilians have infiltrated the Helix Gardens, which means _you_ have _failed _your mission. I do not understand your adamant obsession with a frivolous tent of glass, nor do I care, but I expect you to fulfill your duty. "

Irritation filled my spark chamber in an instance. I bristled, and sneered down at him, optics narrowing to slits. "If you had been _listening_ to me, you would know that I already _have_ a countermeasure to that minor setback."

"_Starve_ them to deactivation? Don't joke with me." He scowled, lips curling. "We don't have time for such inanity." He turned around, and strode away, pedfalls dull thuds muffled by the puddles of energon. "The emergence of a new Prime seems to have inspired hope in the Autobots. We will annihilate that hope, crush their newfound spirit."

I tried to ignore the jabs he took at my plan, and floated after him.

"And how, pray tell, do you plan to do that, oh wise leader?" My voice dripped with snide, and my lord tossed a glare over his shoulder at me, fusion cannon strumming.

I pursed my lips, and my wings dipped.

"Take your fliers, and hunt down every civilian," Megatron instructed, helm returning to looking ahead, "Even those escaping the city, and the ones hiding in the Helix Gardens. No Praxian is to survive this night cycle – None," He stressed, "except for _one_."

I lifted a brow-ridge.

"Oh?"

The ex-gladiator stopped, and turned toward me. "_You_, Starscream, will personally select one mech to save." There was a smile on his faceplate, smeared with energon and caked in creases of shadow. "We need one spark left alive to recount the horrors of this battle, and I am entrusting you with choosing which spark it will be." The smile stretched wider, a benevolent gesture depraved on his lips. "Pick carefully, Crown Prince. He must to be strong, enough to withstand the massacre of his familiars with a coherent amount of sanity. He will have stories to tell." My commander lifted his chin, until he could look at me as though we were at level with each other. "Do not fail me this." He said. "I expect you to carry this out without fault."

"I never failed!" I protested, and sent a huff through my vents. "And if you think yourself so clever, how do you propose we deactivate the civilians hiding inside the Helix Gardens? We can't possibly shoot them down without damaging the dome and its contained artworks."

"You still hold reverence to indulgences of the Golden Age?" Megatron snarled, disgusted at my reluctance of harming the Helix Gardens. At the same moment, three Autobots charged out of an alley, running toward him with their blasters blazing. I shot down one of them, and he took care of the other two without a flicker of optic. "I gave you a chance," He spat out as he crushed the helm of the last Autobot. "I am not responsible for your failure at taking it."

"Stop calling me a failure!" I shouted. "If you ground pounders weren't so tenacious and overpopulated, my fliers wouldn't have had so much trouble getting rid of them!"

"I don't have time this." Megatron pinned me with a glare. "Your orders are simple: Keep one Praxian alive, and kill the others. I don't care how you do it, just that you accomplish what I've assigned you." He raised his right arm, and shot down another wave of incoming Autobots. "You are dismissed. Do not bother me with trivial status reports until the battle is over, understood?"

He did not even wait for me to answer before turning around, and I glared at his back, null rays itching to give him a nice set of round scorch marks for his crude, unpleasant attitude. I grudgingly thought better of it, however. I had no desire to ever experience flying away with the deadliest cannon in existence nipping at my tail fins.

Knowing a lost cause when I see one, I transformed, and took off, without acknowledgment to his dismissal. If he was going to be a rude slagger to me, fine. I'd just _fail_ to regale him with a response.

Flying away, I heaved a deep sigh through my vents.

This was going to be a long night cycle.

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><p><strong>Notes: <strong>Sorry for the lateness, but hopefully, the length of this chapter has made up for it, and also hopefully, I've managed to surprise you with the introduction of a very important character. ;)

Super big thanks to my wonderful, kind reviewers _Emajade32439_, _Krazed Jetformer_, _Koluno1986_, _VyxenSkye_, _Ashcola17_, _TammyCat_, _Confuzzled-Neko_, _Devlinn Reiko_, _Cannonade_, _Eiswolf-Zero_, _caroline-decker_, _supergirl95_, _The-writing-Mew_, _prismadecepticons_, _april_, _tiedwithribbons_, _Khysani Myrical_, _DeceptivelyGood_, _silverflame_, _HI_ (Hi. Haha! ;p), _starscreamgurl01_, _freaky friday_, _ladyredvelvet_, _packer1290_, _Random523_, _starscream fan_, _bannna_, _Rosedrop13_, _Kira michi_, and _starscreamfancypants_. I wholeheartedly appreciate your feedback. It's amazing to think that you'd take the time out of your schedule to drop me even a few sweet words. Thank you! To signed reviewers, sorry I haven't been answering to your reviews. I plan on starting again with this chapter.

**A quick Tumblr note!** I did a drawing of Starscream from "Insatiable" AU, which I'd posted on my Tumblr. The URL to my page (username acteon-carolsfeld) is on my FF profile. Once you're on the page, simply click on the "Insatiable-Verse Reference" tab on the right-hand column. That will take you to a bunch of "Insatiable" related things, which include drawings of the characters. I also have an ask blog for the main cast, linked by a tab on my page as well. It has a bunch of silly little stories, so check it out if you get bored with waiting, haha!

Many thanks for your patience with this story! As usual, feedback would be awesome. I'm particularly curious about how the battle scenes read. I really hope they're still interesting.


	26. XXVI, ii

Disclaimer: Transformers is still not mine. Yet.

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><p>XXVI: ii<p>

Praxus continued to burn. I was getting bored with its supposed beauty.

Every city looked the same under the fire of war, and the explosions, while spectacular, were starting to become terribly repetitive.

I steered my wandering processors back on track. My fliers were still waiting for further instructions.

The only problem I currently faced was getting rid of the civilians inside the Helix Gardens without damaging the dome and the artworks. Frustration reaching its peak, I hissed out a curse, and sliced through the air as though it were grounder plating. There was no plausible way of preserving the dome. Any structural damage, however small, would break the delicate balance supporting the architectural miracle, hence causing a collapse. This left only one option: slag the civilians, forget about the dome, and save as many artworks as possible in the process.

I was not deluded as to think I had any other choice. If I were to ignore a direct order, not only would Megatron find an undoubtedly humiliating way to punish me, he would blast the whole garden to ashes without a second thought. Such avoidable loss would be too great and unnecessary. Just because Lord Slagger did not hold appreciation for our planet's artistic accomplishments did not make them any less valuable. He perceived them as a reflection of decadence, but I saw them as cultural artifacts.

:_Bladeflight, Stormstrike, Ramjet, do you receive?_: I tapped into the Vosian military line, and sent out a ping.

My generals responded in an instance, each hailing my designation.

:_I have new orders, and I expect them to be fulfilled without _any_ hindrance, understood?_: I addressed them with a firm voice that allowed no room for argument. I was not pleased in the slightest about civilians entering the garden, and every bit of that frustration bled through my words.

:_Affirmative, Sire._: Bladeflight replied in place for my generals. :_I apologize for our previous blunder. It will not happen again._:

:_Good,_: I snapped, :_Because if you fail again, it'll be _my_ wings bearing the consequences._: A distant explosion rippled through the air, signaling the end of a temporary pause in battle. :_Dispatch a team to the Helix Gardens._: I commanded. :_Shoot down all civilians, and recover any undamaged artwork._:

:_What of the dome, your Highness?_: Stormstrike asked.

:_Bring it down if you must,_: I would have grimaced if I were in base-mode. :_Ensure no civilian is left alive._:

My generals responded with "affirmatives", Ramjet's being the most enthusiastic.

:_The same encompasses the rest of the city. No Praxian is to survive the night cycle._: I added, and started to scan for a quieter sector of the city to land. :_Our glorious and mighty leader has demanded that the Autobots understand the full extent of our wrath._: I hissed, syllables biting and cold. :All_ civilians _must die_. Give chase immediately to those who have escaped the city. Fall upon them without mercy. Shoot them down, and make sure there is plenty of carnage left for Autobot optics to feast upon._:

:_Oh this will be _fun_!_: Ramjet cackled.

:_What of you, your Majesty?_: Bladeflight inquired. :_Will you be joining us to oversee our progress?_:

:_Negative, I have my own objective to fulfill._: I answered. Just as I was about to explain, something peculiar caught my attention, several buildings away on the ground. Deciding to check it out, I deactivated my thrusters, and started to glide to silence my descent. :_Ping me when the Helix Garden is free of functioning civilian units. Otherwise, do not contact me unless an emergency occurs._: I told my generals to cut the conversation short. :_Starscream, out._: I ended our call.

During my exchange with my generals, I had entered a dead zone. It was quiet here, drenched in darkness. The electric generators powering Praxus were one of the first targets heralding the coming of battle, and their demise left the city shrouded in shadow. Explosions and flames were the only light source now, and sector here no longer burned. Fire and bombings had already done their work. The air was cold here, heat drawn away by the utter lack of life. Silence was thicker than the lingering smoke, a tangible pressure hovering like fog over the pit of debris.

This was the precursor of what would ultimately be left of Praxus, of Cybertron, after our war.

Flying so low between the crumbled buildings and their overhanging gloom was a little unnerving. Gray frames and detached limbs stuck out of windows. They cluttered the streets. Gaping, dark optics from faceplates contorted in horror followed my frame as I passed by, tingling my flight sensors. The only light source this dead zone had was the faint glimmer of drying energon, splattered over the walls and the ground. They glowed weaker than embers, illuminating outlines of dead bodies and empty spark chambers.

I lost sight of that peculiarity I had caught a little while ago. It was a tiny blur of movement, partially hidden around a corner. I'd first assumed that I was imagining it, and I would have been convinced had it not kept happening. It was as an arm, hand flopping on a loose joint. I knew I had been instructed to find a survivor, but the situation was so bizarre that I had to see what it was, to find out who or what was making that gesture toward me.

Without any consideration, I decided to dip my nosecone into the dark, ominous hole of the city. Only afterwards did I realize what a bad idea that was, and started to regret flying alone.

The air was heavy, laden with dust. The sector was quiet, undisturbed.

Who could be possibly alive there? No civilian could have escaped the first fire of battle.

I transformed, and engaged my thrusters to hover. I looked around, stalling on all the alleyways, wings tense on my back. I knew the arm had been around the area, but I couldn't find it. I floated about for a moment, and contemplated giving up, when a small noise, a tiny tick of sound, reached my audials.

It was a quiet tapping, coming from behind me, on the right. I turned. With a startle, I spotted the arm, sticking out of an alley. It was flopping again. Only this time, its attached hand was hitting the side wall, fingers slapping against its scorched surface. My optics narrowed, and I activated my null rays. Someone was trying to get my attention, though the purpose of doing so escaped me.

Regardless, I was trying to find a survivor. It simply never occurred to me that I would be led straight to one. Somewhat amused by the thought, I floated closer, and lifted my arms in standard battle position. However, before I could peer into the alley, the arm disappeared, retreating into the shadows. I cursed, and shot forward with a surge of speed. I'd hoped to catch a glimpse of the mech connected to the arm, but all I saw was inky darkness.

That was odd. I did not even hear the quite patters of peds running away to hide.

The situation was too bizarre for my comfort. My wings shivered on my back, and I clenched my fists tighter. I was certain someone was watching me, but it did not come from within the shadow. I could not tell where the mech was, only that his gaze prickled against my sensory grid. My optics glowed brighter as I dialed up their sensitivity. I swept my vision over the street. A clatter behind me. I swirled around. All I saw was a blur whipping through the air before pain struck my right bed, and a thick cable snapped around my ankle, cinching around my limb.

I yelped, and tried to jerk away. However, the cable had caught on its hook, and no matter how hard I pulled, it refused to budge. I sent a boost to my thrusters, to light up my surroundings to locate the perpetrator. Before I could, the cable yanked down, and pulled me toward the ground.

I cried out, dropping several wingspans. Igniting my thrusters to full capacity, I tried to regain my altitude, only to falter and cringe at the ache in my joint against the strain. The cable tightened. It dug into my plating. A sudden, hard yank tore me out of the air, cursing and shrieking. I fell, balance lost, in a straight plummet to the ground.

Dust puffed upon the dull thud of my impact. I gritted back the sting of rubble against my wings, and sprung upright, arms swinging up to shoot at the other end of the cable. My null ray hummed. Shots sailed through the air. There was a flash of white. A pair of arms. I did not have much time to take aim. Another curt heave wrenched me onto my back, and I screeched out a curse, derma chafing against the ground as the cable dragged me toward my captor.

I slid into a dark alley, kicking and screaming. I charged my compact cannons, and shot into the shadows, thrusters sputtering to take me back to the sky. I scraped the tip of my ped against the lasso, desperate to loosen its grip. Before I could even _think_ to grab onto something, the cable went slack, and a hand came down, shoving me down with a grip around my neck cables.

Hollering in threats, I thrashed and beat at the white arm, folding my knees to push the mech back with my peds. A growl answered my efforts, and the hand squeezed, slamming me down against the ground. I winced, spitting curses. Something cold and hard battered against my canopy. I froze, recognizing the following whirr.

It was a blaster.

Its barrel was growing warm.

I gasped, and held up my hands, settling down and tensing into stillness.

I had to adjust the settings of my visual sensors to bring my captor into view. I jumped when he did, as he was much closer than I had anticipated. He loomed over me, lips pursed, without a sound. He was a ground pounder, dark blue with white arms, and big, very big, armor thick with dim optics on a silver faceplate.

The optics, icy blue, glared down at me, before flickering to the Decepticon insignias on my wings.

Was this an Autobot?

I gave the mech a quick once-over.

He did not wear red.

This was…a civilian?

I frowned, and gaped up at him in disbelief.

How could a _civilian_ pluck me out of the air?!

The mech did not speak. He kept a close watch on me, blaster never straying from my canopy. He took off the cable from my ankle, and grabbed my wrists to tie them together. He was swift, and his knots were strong. He ignored me when I complained about the makeshift cuffs cutting into my plating, and raveled the other end of the cable into a fist, optics never leaving mine for even a split klik.

He stood up, and gave the cable a yank.

"Get up." He spoke at last, though it was little more than a grunt. I scrambled onto my peds, happy to be back on my thrusters. I glanced up, and swallowed a bubble of nervousness. The grounder was tall, and intimidating. He stared down at me, and waved his blaster at the other end of the alley.

I sneered, wings rising. If he thought he could just order me around, he was about to receive a lashing of his miserable lifetime. I parted my lips, chassis bristling upward. He gave me a push on the back, and pressed the blaster right against my spinal strut, digging the barrel right under my wings.

My intakes hitched. My fuel pump skidded.

This mech, he knew exactly where to aim, exactly how to angle a shot to pierce a flier straight in the spark.

"_Move_." He snarled, and I bit back a retort, grumbling as I started to walk. I knew I stood no chance against a ground pounder, especially when he had me on a leash. Despite the lack of an Autobot badge, this was no ordinary civilian. The ease with which he handled weapons, his knowledge of flier anatomy – they all implied a military background, one I knew to not underestimate or overlook. For now, I obeyed him, if only to feign docility and to keep him from injuring me further.

He took us through alleyways and narrow streets. I could not keep up to map our location, but that mattered little. As soon as I found an opportunity, I would give him a pair of nice hole in the helm, and take off. Finding the way was easy in the air. Every mech dropped their guard the longer their prisoner exhibited passivity. That moment of distraction was all I needed to spin around and blast him in the faceplate. If my prediction was correct, he was leading me to his hiding spot, the place that shielded him from battle. It was possible that there were other survivors there, which meant his attention would be divided. This increased my chance of escape. My odds were good. I would do as I was told for now. There was no reason to alert my generals and Megatron of my capture.

I would much rather not ask for aid. That would be downright embarrassing.

I made my wings tremble to appear frightened. I stumbled, as though clumsy, and yelped in fear each time he caught me from falling on my aft. I sent him pleading glances, and whimpered every time the barrel of his blaster hit my back, right between my wing joints. He hasn't reacted so far, but that did not mean he wouldn't. He kept leading us through the dead streets of Praxus. Several breems later, we reached a half demolished building, and walked into what was left of a novelty shop.

The grounder gave me a hard shove. I fell forward, squeaking and stumbling until I caught myself against a broken counter. With a painful grip on my wrists, he yanked me further into the shop, and strode toward the back. There was wall, with a large hole, separating the front of the shop from its storage space. Upon reaching it, my captor pushed me into a kneeling position, and tied me to an exposed support beam of the building.

He pulled on the cable, and nodded to himself. Deeming me effectively subdued, he turned away. I struggled with my binds. However, as I'd expected, they did not budge in the slightest. I blasted out a sigh, and flopped down on my aft with a sulky grimace. The mech did not leave the store. Instead, he appeared to be looking for something, getting more agitated by the klik.

"Bluestreak?" He called out, peering behind planks of metal propped up against the side wall.

I jumped when a voice came ringing out behind me.

"I'm here!" The voice said, and quiet rustling followed. I swirled around, and, through the hole in the wall, I could see a frame, climbing onto its peds. It limped, trudging toward a door leading to the front of the shop. My captor tossed his helm aside in a sigh, and hurried to the bot's side, moments later emerging with a smaller grounder in his arms.

"I'm okay, really!" The smaller grounder, assuming Bluestreak, tried to brush off his caretaker's concern. However, just from one glance alone, anyone could tell he was badly injured, edging close to critical system stasis-lock. He was black and white with the occasional red, though a large portion of his paintjob was covered by a thick layer of congealing energon. He was missing an arm, a ped completely crushed, and his optics flickered, one dimmer than the other, spitting signals at irregular intervals. The only reason he was still alive was the crude weld marks sealing his wounds, keeping him from bleeding to deactivation. A pair of panels jutted from his back, high in the air. They were door-wings, I recognized, with a brief widening of optics.

Bluestreak was native to Praxus.

"You are not okay. You shouldn't move." The larger mech grumbled as he set Bluestreak down into a sitting position by the side wall. "You have to conserve your energy."

"I know," Bluestreak smiled at his companion, gaze apologetic, and glanced toward me. "It's just that I heard someone scream, so I thought I should hide."

My captor cast me a look over his shoulder.

"You could hear him all the way here?" He asked, sounding a little surprised, and I felt the urge to snarl a snide remark.

"Yeah, it was really loud." Bluestreak answered, and I sent him a glare. "Do you think others heard?" The Praxian did not sound cautious, but rather hopeful.

The larger mech shook his helm.

"No," He replied, voice low and quiet, "Everyone is dead."

Bluestreak froze. His door-wings started to shake, and I thought he was going to cry, but he only looked away, and wilted into a curl around his torso. He nodded after a moment, and fiddled with his fingers as though trying to distract himself.

The larger grounder sighed. He reached forward, and gave Bluestreak's shoulder a gentle squeeze before heaving onto his peds.

"I have to look around for more tools," My captor said, "so I have to leave you with him." He threw another look toward me. "Don't go _any_where near him." He warned his charge, a digit pointed my way. "He's tied up so he can't use his weapons, but that doesn't mean he's not dangerous."

The bigger grounder paused. He turned in my direction, this time to pin me with a glare.

"He's a _Decepticon_." He hissed, voice quiet but jagged with hate. "And you've _seen_ what they can do."

Bluestreak peeked toward me, wary but clearly curious. He nodded, and promised his protector that he would stay far away. However, I was certain our time alone would not pass in silence. His optics, weak lit as they were, flashed with interest as he studied my form.

The larger mech left the shop, after checking that the cable was tight around my wrists. He glared at me in threat, and I cowered closer to the wall, letting out terror-filled whines, wings pointed down. This apparently appeased him, as he'd turned and walked out without a word. His pedfalls went further and further away. As soon as he was out of audial range, I started examining my binds, to see if there were any weak points.

There was none. I sighed, and pulled at them out of frustration. Perhaps there was something I could use around me, to cut myself loose. I had just begun looking when the smaller grounder broke our silence, affirming my suspicion that he had wanted to talk to me.

"Hi," He blurted out, tone light and friendly, "I'm Bluestreak."

I _know_, I wanted to drawl while giving him a flat stare, but I only froze still, as though he frightened me.

"What's your designation?" He asked, and waited for me to answer. I remained still, and kept my pretense of fear.

"Don't be scared." He chirped. "Clash might seem mean and tough, but he's really a big softie once you get to know him. He's just really protective of me. That's why he keeps glaring at you. Sometimes I think he still sees me as a sparkling. It's not easy, I guess, for a creator to realize his sparkling's all grown up." He laughed, acting as if we were chatting over cubes of energon instead of sitting on the floor in a dying city. "But I'm old enough to take care of myself, you know. I guess you wouldn't believe me since I resemble a scrapheap right now, but I live by myself and everything. Well, before my place got blown up, that is."

I sent him a tiny glance, and scooted closer to the wall, pulling my knees toward my canopy.

"Wow, you're a real timid one, aren't you?" The Praxian shifted a little, trying to peer at my faceplate. "If you're worried that Clash is gonna hurt you, don't be. He might've been a little rough, but that's only because he doesn't know his own strength sometimes. We're just gonna use you as a hostage so we can get out of here. That's all."

I was not sure if that was supposed to comfort me, so I remained silent.

"Well, get out of here as soon as he finds me some energon, I guess." Bluestreak prattled on, regardless of my lack of response. "My tank's pretty much empty, and it's not a nice feeling. Not a nice feeling at all."

I wondered how a mech could talk so much while running low on energon, but I kept my thoughts to myself.

"Maybe I can tell you about my life. Would that make you feel better?" He asked, and I had to bite my glossa to stop myself from tossing him a nasty comment.

Why the frag would hearing about his life make me feel better?

"I was sparked in Praxus, and I've lived here all my life." Without my protest, he chattered on. "It's a really beautiful city, you know, so I saw no reason to ever leave. I was sure I was gonna find a mate here, settle down, and have my own sparklings. But then, well…" His voice dropped. "…I guess no one can really live here anymore…" He trailed off. I peeked over my arm, and saw him staring out at the empty streets with a pained expression on his faceplate. However, as quickly as it came, he shook himself out of it, and talked on.

"I've always wanted to be an artist, but then again, who _doesn't_ wanna be an artist in Praxus?" He laughed. "I've been told I paint pretty well, by a lot of mechs too, so I like to think I have _some_ talent. I never entered the art academy though. My family unit didn't have the vault, so I went to study business. If I can make a lot of credits, then I can pay for my own schooling. Good thing the art academy accepts all ages. Did you know that Sunstreaker was a runt in Kaon before he got discovered? I heard he almost got himself deactivated in the pit-fights! By the time he got his sibling unit out of the rehabilitation centers, he was already a fully-matured mech, but look at where he is now!"

I did not know Sunstreaker was a gladiator before he became an artist. Based on the rumours about how vain he was, I had assumed he was sparked in high society, possibly related to a Senator or a mech of wealth. Apparently, I was wrong.

"So my point is, it's never too late to pursue your dreams, you know?" Bluestreak quirked his helm to the side, and gave me a look. I had realized my mistake too late. I'd forgotten to keep curled up, and consequently let him catch sight of my faceplate. Now I could not look away. He had the widest, roundest optics I have ever seen on a mature frame. I didn't know what had him so captivated, but he was actually speechless for a while.

"…Wow…" He whispered, staring at me without the slightest clue that it was rude. "You have a really pretty faceplate…!"

My wings perked up at the compliment by instinct.

"Are all fliers pretty like you?" Bluestreak asked, and scooted forward, voice full of wonder. "They can't _all _be as pretty as you, right? Not that I've ever seen a flier, but you must be a pretty one even amongst you guys!"

My wings flicked twice. I decided, right at that klik, that this little grounder was going to survive this night cycle.

"I've always wondered what Vos is like. It's so mysterious, you know. Vos." He beamed at me with a big smile, optics blinking unevenly. "A city without any streets, and only towers…I've seen sketches and stuff, but they're all from the beginning of the Golden Age, before Vos got closed off, so I'm guessing things look different now, not that I'd ever find out, I guess." He leaned back against the wall, systems groaning under the strain of his posture. "So…What's your designation?" He tilted his helm, and waited for an answer.

I contemplated keeping silent, but this time, Bluestreak seemed pit-bent on finding out what my designation was. Deciding to humour him, I put on the most innocent expression I could muster, and whispered:

"…S-Star—…Starsparkle."

Despite my overall shudder toward the name, the horrid fake designation Skywarp had once given me fell seamlessly through my lips. Bluestreak's optics flashed, and his smile grew to a grin.

"Starsparkle, wow! That's a beautiful name!"

_Really?_ I arched a brow ridge, but did not reply.

"What kind of a flier are you?" Encouraged, Bluestreak continued to ask, hoping to prompt more answers from me. "I heard you guys have different frame types just like us ground pounders, but I never learnt what they are. You look like a small flier. Are you a Jet or something?"

_Close_.

I shook my helm.

"I'm a Seeker." I murmured, nibbling on my lips, and watched him fall for my act without a second thought. Bluestreak was a trusting idiot. I could easily manipulate him to my advantage, and as soon as he was on my side, I could get Clash to release me under some farce about obeying his orders. No creator could resist pleas from his sparkling, after all.

"Wow, that's wonderful!" Bluestreak exclaimed, and I wondered what he could possibly know about how wonderful being a Seeker was. "You must be really fast if you're in the army, which reminds me, why _are_ you in the army? You look so small. So light-plated. Your wings look even more fragile than the rest of you. How can you fight like that?"

I wanted to sneer and tell him that I could slag his aft faster than he could transform into his alt-mode if I so wished, but his expression held no offense, merely curiosity. Besides, I had to play my part in convincing him I was harmless.

"I-I'm not… small…!" I squeaked, pretending to be flustered and embarrassed. "Just because I'm not—…_big_ like the other Decepticons doesn't mean I'm not s-strong!" I plastered on a wavering expression of indignation, and wiggled as though in great discomfort. He fell easily for my pretense, and frowned in concern.

"Are you okay?" He asked, just as I expected.

"I'm fine!" I averted my optics, and curled into a tight ball, wings visibly quivering.

"You don't _look_ fine…" He mumbled.

How _well observed_, I wanted to huff.

"I—I said I'm fine…!" My vents spluttered, and I bit down hard on my glossa until coolant gathered under my optics. "…It's just—…M-My wrists…They really hurt…" I whimpered in misery, and sent him a teary glance. I made sure my wings were sagging downward, trembling as though in terrible agony.

"Do they?" Bluestreak sat up higher, and studied my frame with great worry. "I didn't know Clash tied them so tightly." His frown deepened. "I can ask him to loosen it a bit when he comes back if you want."

"Can you…?" My voice was a mere whimper as I looked at him in plea over my arm. "They really hurt…"

Before the Praxian could reply, distant pedfalls came within audial range. Bluestreak must have heard as well. He turned toward the front of the shop, and peered out at the street, lips pursed. Clash was coming back. I only had a little more time to play up my act.

With a frightened whine, I curled up tighter, and pressed myself against the wall as though it could hide me from Clash's wrath. I peeked over my arm once again, and gaped at Bluestreak in terror, coolant blurring my vision.

"P-Please don't let him h—hurt me…!" I made the saddest little sounds, until the smaller grounder practically broke apart under my optics. He nodded, and promised that he would get me out of my binds as soon as possible, that Clash was not going to hurt me no matter what happened.

Clash came into view, walking toward the shop. Bluestreak rounded on him as soon as he appeared.

"Clash, what did you do to him?!" The Praxian actually sounded angry, berating his creator. "Poor Starsparkle's _terrified_ of you! His wrists are really hurting too, so untie him! Quickly!"

"_Starsparkle_?" Clash frowned, and tilted toward me, a shroud of confusion on his faceplate. I whimpered in fear, and hid my faceplate at his inquiring gaze.

"That's his designation, and he's a Seeker," Bluestreak announced. "He's really harmless, Clash, and he's been keeping me company." The smaller mech paused, and his voice gained a hard, pointed edge as he continued. "I don't know what you did to him, but I don't like what I see. Just look at him! He's fearful for his life! I know it's hard for you to restrain yourself, old habits and leftover protocols and all, but did you have to be so rough with him? He's practically still a _youngling_, so tiny and scared! For Primus's sakes, at least loosen his binds. He's hurting and I don't like it. You _know_ I don't like seeing anyone hurt, especially such a young and fragile one…"

I had no idea where Bluestreak got the idea that I was a youngling, but I was not about to stop him from thinking more of a victim out of me. Something he mentioned about Clash made me cautious, however. My suspicions about the large grounder have pretty much been confirmed. He has had military training, which meant I had to be careful. Bluestreak's creator would not be so easy to fool.

"A youngling?" Clash let out a grunt. "He's no youngling. Seekers don't grow up to be big. Have to be small and light to fly fast." His words grumbled. "This one's mature as they go, so don't worry yourself. He's as tough as a Seeker's ever going to get." His voice got louder as he approached me from behind. I was genuinely startled when he clapped a large hand on the leading edge of my right wing, and started to squeeze. I cried out in protest. His fingers dug light grooves, and they throbbed. However, they did not hurt nearly as much as I made it seem to. Bluestreak was horrified, though, gasping so loud that the sound echoed inside the tattered shop.

"Clash! What in the pits are you doing?!"

"Testing his wing durability," My captor murmured, "And he's definitely no youngling. Hasn't been for at least a couple of vorns." He knelt down behind me, and dropped something heavy on the floor next to my peds. "Stop worrying about him. He's a soldier. He's trained to take whatever's handed to him."

There was a pause. I glanced over my arm, and caught the larger mech looking at his creation.

"Remember, Bluestreak," Clash stressed with a hard glottal, "we are in the middle of battle, and this seemingly defenseless little flier here?" He gave my back a slap, and I jolted. "He'll kill you without a second thought."

Bluestreak did not speak. His lips pressed together, and his optics shone, one flickering at odd intervals. Clash tore his gaze away, and moved to fiddle with whatever slag he brought back from the ruins. I watched as he unwound a hose. I hadn't the faintest clue what the device was, or what purpose it served. However, its closeness suggested that Clash was possibly planning on using it on me, and that did not sit well with my spark at all.

"…Wh-What are you…going to do with that?" I whispered, only partially faking my fear. I was nervous, processors reeling with questions for the small machine. It was dirty, covered in dents and dust. No matter what it did, I had high suspicion that I was not going to like it.

"Stop pretending like you don't know. Your acting's terrible." Clash gave me a glance as he spread out the hose. "A few tears might fool Bluestreak, but I didn't survive the Great War to be deceived by the likes of you."

I almost dropped my act just to give him a swift kick in the helm. He was close enough. However, I kept my mouth shut, and remained cowering against the wall. Despite what he said, I was certain I could trick him into dropping his guard. He has already done so when he'd exposed his origin to me. Any information could be used to one's advantage.

Clash had apparently been a soldier during the Great Quint War, which meant he knew more about fliers than the average ground pounder. He had obviously survived the battle for Praxus so far due to his old training, and kept his sparkling from deactivation with general field repairs. However, he must have stayed a civilian since the beginning of the Golden Age, which meant he was not as trained or quick as he had once been. He was resourceful, as all veterans of the Great Quint War were, and, like many of them, he was a little arrogant.

I knew I was not programmed for theater, but if I could beg my way out of death from my ruthless, unforgiving lord, I could do it to any other mech on Cybertron.

Clash took out a bucket from subspace, and set it beside the device. He fiddled with a few buttons, and the machine hummed to life, tiny bulbs blinking rapidly. Satisfied with its high-pitched beeping, the large grounder tugged another hose out of the machine, this one shorter. He put it inside the bucket, and grabbed the longer hose, turning toward me before holding it to my faceplate, expectation clear in his demeanor.

"Open." He said.

I only stared, shivering, and curled into a ball.

"I don't want to force you, Seeker. _Open_." He gritted out, pressing the hose closer.

I had no idea what he wanted me to do. After a long, strained moment of silence, he heaved a loud sigh from his vents, and dropped his arm to a folded knee.

"It won't hurt if you cooperate. You must've done this in training." He tried to sound diplomatic, to convince me to open whatever it was he wanted access to. "You know it's safe. It's standard field medic procedures. I know this doesn't look like the ones you fliers carry, but I found it in a med bay, so I can assure you it's just a tank pump."

Just a tank pump.

I gaped at my captor, lips hanging apart from horror.

This time, nothing was feigned. I plastered my frame as flat against the wall as I could, and stretched my optics to their limits, ventilation stalling to a full stop.

From my peripheral vision, I spotted Bluestreak doing the same, staring at his creator. I shook out of my stupor, and snapped my mouth shut. I clamped my lips tight, and no one, medic or otherwise, was ever going to stick a Primus-damned hose down my throat to drain my tank of pre-processed energon.

"I know it's uncomfortable, but you're a soldier. You'll bear it." Clash grabbed me by a shoulder vent, and tried to pry me away from the wall. "I'm not giving you an option, Seeker." He scowled. "If you don't open your mouth, I'm not above beating you to slag until you do, especially if it means saving my sparkling." His gaze narrowed to a steely glint, and fear, its genuine prickle, frosted the insides of my spark chamber.

"Y-You're crazy!" I squeaked, struggling against his grip and my binds.

"You have no other option." Clash was not deterred in the slightest, fingers tightening around my plating. "You are grounded, tied down, and your weapons are ineffective. I'm not trying to make this painful for you, but it _will_ be painful if you don't comply." He loomed closer, and stuck the hose right into my faceplate. "_Open_." He bit out, and I snarled in retaliation.

"Smelt in the pits!" I snapped at him, jaw-joints clenched, voice trembling.

"C'mon, Clash, you-…you won't do it!" Shuffling noises came from Bluestreak's direction. He must've been trying to get onto his peds, but a toppling thud interrupted the scraping. Clash glanced to the side. I did the same. Bluestreak was sprawled on the floor, groaning as he tried to push himself up with his only arm. His optics were flashing on and off, and his limbs shook with strain under his weight. He was on the verge of an emergency system shut down. He needed energon, but that did not mean I was willing to let his creator stick a hose into my mouth.

"I don't have time to be _civil_ with you, Seeker." Clash swirled around. His words hissed. "Will you or will you not comply?"

I kept my mouth clamped shut, and glared at him in defiance. He waited a moment longer, before nodding in understanding. To my surprise, he actually stood up, and backed away. Before I could figure out why he had relented without protest, he reached to his side, and unclipped his blaster.

He shot one of my wings.

The laser blast burned straight through the plating of my limb. I screamed, agony searing through my neural lines. The shot melted my inner circuitry, and left a hole in its path. Bluestreak was shouting. I could not care enough to decipher his babbled words. I gritted my dentae, and squeezed my optical shutters. Pained cries wheezed through my vocalizer. My frame jerked a violent spasm, and I curled up further, vents spluttering and intakes hitching. Energon oozed from my wound, dripping to the floor. I buried my faceplate into my forearms, and refused to utter compliance even as my sensors scalded with feedback.

Clash knelt on one knee, and pinched my chin with his fingers. He yanked me to face him, optics ablaze, and asked again, vents spitting hot air.

"Will you _comply_, Seeker?"

I tried to pull my chin out of his fingers, and onlined my optics just to give him the most hateful glare I could muster. His gaze dimmed. He released me without a word. Standing back, he took aim once again, and shot my left wing.

"-Ahhhh—!"

My back arched as another wave of agony slammed into my neural network. However, this time, the torture did not stop. Clash continued to shoot. Two more blasts, each on one of my wings. I shrieked, helm tossing back. Every joint in my frame grew rigid as my flight sensors dissolved into a molten pool by the laser. My wings scorched, each tremble giving way to a new assault of agony. Coolant streamed down my cheek plates, and I hid my features against my arms, choking back a sob.

I refused to give the slagger the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

"C-Clash, stop—…!" Bluestreak pleaded, but his creator paid him no mind. My captor walked closer, and the warm barrel of the blaster smacked against my back.

"Last offer, Seeker. Yes, or no." His voice was as though blades of ice. "I can pull your tank from your deactivated body if it needs to be done."

I did not believe him. He needed me as a hostage to ensure his escape with Bluestreak.

I clenched my jaw, and did not speak.

To my utter terror, the blaster began to charge.

My optics widened, and I swirled back, staring up at the grounder with dawning panic. His digit was on the trigger. He began to pull.

"Wait! _Wait_! Don't shoot!" I cried out, grinding my chassis against the wall, trying to get away from the heating barrel. "I—I'll do it! I'll do it!" I shouted, voice shrill and frantic. My spark shivered inside my spark chamber even as he lowered his blaster.

Clash knelt down next to me. He held up the hose, and, with several frightened glances, I relented, lips quivering as I parted them.

The hose was hard. It was cold, and dirty. The rubber was firm. It tasted disgusting. It entered my mouth, and I almost gagged, its tubing coarse and stale against my glossa. It hit the back of my oral cavity, and kept on pushing. It scratched the lining of my throat, and I retched, vocalizer emitting a high-pitched squeal of alarm.

"Tilt back your helm." Clash grunted. I took gulps of air through my intakes, and, carefully, followed his instruction. I lifted my chin, ignoring the nausea threatening to upturn my tank, and held as still as I could. My captor guided more of the hose into my mouth. He was watching me, concentrated on his task, and I offlined my optics, shame burning in my cheek plates. My wings stung with agony at any flick of movement, but I could not stop shivering. The hose entered my throat, and started inching into my primary fuel intake, stretching its flexible, moist wall.

I whimpered, feeling extremely violated. Did all soldiers go through this perversity in their training? It made sense to some extent, and it would not be as bad if it meant saving a friend's life. However, was there really no better way of preserving a comrade's spark? Weren't field medics required to carry emergency rations at all times?

"The hose will be reaching your tank valve soon. It will be uncomfortable." Clash murmured, optics an intent glow under the cowl of his helm. "Stay still to avoid internal damage." He explained, and I started to shake, a wave of helplessness drenching my spark. "Your fuel intake system will try to repel the procedure." He instructed, "You must cancel the warnings, or it'll get messy."

Clash has probably figured out by now that I have never had any training in this grotesque medical procedure. However, I did not have the time to dwell on such thought. The hose slid further in, and bumped into something solid. A throb lurched deep inside me, and a massive wave of warnings flooded into my processors. My fuel tank heaved. Energon beat against the opening to my primary intake.

I squeezed out a thin whine, frame cinching taut. The high, piercing noise was muffled by the hose, and, desperate to make my discomfort known, I started to struggle. My arms pulled against their restraints, trying to grapple on the hose and pull it out. My wings jerked on my back, splattering spots of pain against my sensory grid. Primus, this was horrid. Coolant tears stung my optics. My fuel tank twisted and thrashed inside me. I wanted to scream at the slagger to stop, but every syllable came out an unrecognizable splutter. Amidst the chaos, a thought fleeted across my processors. I remembered that I had a small cube of energon right in my subspace. I wanted to throttle myself for forgetting about it, but it was too late. The large grounder would not understand me even if I tried to tell him that I had a ration right on my person.

Clash wrapped an arm around me, and kept me still.

"Cancel the warnings." He yelled into my right audial, and held the hose firmly in place inside my mouth. "Cycle air through your intakes. Relax."

Relax? How in the pits did he expect me to _relax_?!

"It'll be more bearable that way." He tightened his grip around my shoulders.

After much fight, I managed to cancel the warnings, and calmed down my systems. I could not stop shaking, optics gaping and unseeing as Clash guided more of the hose inside me.

Frag me to the pits, Megatron's fists were nothing compared to this ordeal.

The hose pressed against my fuel intake valve, and squirmed into my tank with a wet, slimy squelch. It was finally in place. Clash eased his grip around me, and turned to the machine.

I onlined my optics, and watched my captor fiddle with the buttons. I had no idea what to expect, and remained completely still in case any small movement jolted the hose and inspired another tidal wave of warnings. Over Clash's shoulder, I caught Bluestreak staring at me, looking like he was about to be sick. The little slagger had better felt like he was about to be sick. Even better yet, I hoped his systems rejected flier fuel and poisoned him to death.

Clash pressed one of the bigger buttons, and the machine started humming louder. The hose jolted into vibration, and I squealed, alarmed by the buzzing traveling down my intake. Clash pressed me against the wall, and, much to my surprise, started to rub my wing joints. The gesture, while calming, disgusted me further. It was intimate. How Clash had even learned it was beyond me.

Mouth stuffed, I was unable to voice my repulsion to his gesture. The hose jolted again, and began sucking pre-processed energon from my tank. Kliks later, a thick, wet squelch splattered from the other hose of the machine. Energon, glowing still, started to dribble into the bucket.

I could not stop whimpering, biting down on the hose and unable to stop the grounder from molesting me. My wings continued to shake, but my attention was so fixated on the thing down my throat that I could not even register the pain from my injuries anymore. There was no way I would contact my generals for help now. I would rather deactivate than allow any of my flier to see me in such a disgracing situation.

Several breems passed. My jaw hinges were throbbing. Finally, Clash turned off the machine. I checked my fuel level, and found it to be just a little over thirty percent. There was enough left for me to avoid immediate danger, but I would have to be careful of lengthy air battles. Aerobatics required a full tank. I would not be able to fight for long.

Clash checked the bucket. Apparently satisfied with the result, he nodded to himself, and decided my torture was over. He reached for the hose in my mouth, and, with another hand around the back of my helm, started guiding it out. There was a most nauseous clench inside me as the rubbery tube slid past my tank valve. I almost gagged, but I managed to keep my system in check, optics pinched in a grimace. The hose leaked energon. A pool gathered in my mouth as it slid past my lips. There was no way I was going to swallow it. Just the mere thought of it repulsed me. Suddenly, as though lightning, an idea hit my processors. My optics flashed, and my helm perked.

I knew how to overturn my capture.

Clash rewound the hose. He turned toward me, and leaned forward as though to check if I was alright. He was close. I scooted back to lure him closer. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words left them.

I chose that moment to strike.

I spat the energon right into his faceplate, aiming for his optics. He jumped back with a cry of shock, fumbling to stand. However, before he could, I lifted one of my peds, and activated my thruster.

A surge of heat shot out of my heel. The splatter of energon caught fire. It combusted right on Clash's faceplate, and the large grounder stumbled back, cursing in pain. He tripped over the bucket of energon. It tipped over, and he fell, right into the puddle.

Just as I'd thought.

I smiled, and dabbed my thruster into the energon. It ignited in an instance, and I watched, glee stretching the upward tilt of my lips. Clash was engulfed in flames, bellowing in agony as he tried in vain to stop the fire. Bluestreak screamed. I laughed. Whatever Pristinus had done to the energon, it made the fuel even more potent than normal. It burned, melting my captor's optics. I took in the veteran's frantic dance in the flames, and I laughed, spark reeling in vengeful delight and amusement.

Clash tumbled out of the shop, no longer aware of where he was going. He clutched his melting faceplate, and fell to the ground, thrashing in the debris. With him out of my immediate range, I started looking around for anything that could help me get out of the makeshift cuffs. I couldn't spot anything sharp enough to cut through the cables, but Clash's blaster was lying on the floor. I stuck out one of my peds, and managed to scoop it toward me. After much awkward maneuvering, I squeezed it between my thighs, and pointed the barrel of the blaster at the beam my wrists were tied to.

"You-You—…monster!" Bluestreak's static-filled cry caught my attention, and I turned toward him with a glance. "You—…_fiend_!" The small grounder yelled, vocalizer glitching midway through his words. He was crying, coolant washing down his faceplate. He gaped at me, expression full of hurt and betrayal. How dramatic. I scoffed, and scrunched my nose bridge with a bark of laughter.

"He got what he deserved for daring to stick a hose down my throat." I hissed, and wiggled my hands until the cuffs slid down along the beam. Getting my thumbs on the trigger took many tries. When I finally reached it, I steered the barrel toward the beam, and pressed down, jolting as a shot slammed straight through the wall.

It missed.

"He was going to let you go!" Bluestreak continued to sob, shouting at me until his voice rasped. "You killed my creator!"

"No, I did not." I sang with a lilt, and aimed the blaster again. "Not_ yet_ I haven't." I flashed the Praxian a smirk, and fired the blaster once more, wings flicking when the shot grazed the beam, and melted its side.

"T-To think that I'd felt…_sorry_ for you…that I was going to—…going to _help you_…!" Bluestreak clawed at the floor. His intakes hitched. "I even tried to convince Clash to let you go!"

"A lot of good _that_ did," I snapped, and huffed through my vents. Not sparing him a glance, I adjusted the aim of the blaster, and hit my target at last. The beam broke in the middle. I smiled in triumph, and tossed the blaster aside. I stood up, and yanked at my binds until they popped free from the beam. Finally, I was free, no longer restrained to the wall.

Despite the fact that my wrists were still tied together, I could now aim my null rays. First things first, I walked to the front of the shop, and spotted Clash still grabbing at his faceplate, though most of the flames had already gone down. He was a couple of wingspans away, frame quavering in pain. Too lazy to go after him, I pointed null rays at Bluestreak, and shouted after the larger ground pounder.

"Clash!" I called out. "I _have_ something of yours." I pointed my null rays straight at Bluestreak's faceplate, and my smirk widened when his round, blue optics stretched with terror.

Clash stiffened. He whipped around on his peds.

"I think your sparkling's helm would look nicely hung up on my wall back home." I taunted, talking loudly to direct him my way, since his vision no longer functioned. "But worry not, he will not be alone." I allowed a note of hilarity to trickle into my voice. "I think _many_ of his fellow Praxians will compliment him most beautifully, wouldn't you say?"

With a roar of fury, Clash charged in my direction, swiping his arms. "Where are you? Where _are_ you, you little glitch?!" He bellowed, stumbling off track, and I blew out a sigh, giving away my location.

"_Always_ the _name-calling_ with you ground pounders. How quaint." I teased, syllables lilting. Clash tripped over the rubble scattered over the street, and finally crawled back into the shop. I was a little impressed by how desperately he tried to protect his sparkling, who was, in no shape or form, a sparkling any longer.

"Leave him alone, you hear me?!" The large grounder shouted. "Leave him alone!"

Fear laced the angry spitting of his words. He obviously suffered serious injuries, and he had been thoroughly disfigured, energon streaming down his faceplate like coolant tears. However, regardless, he pushed onwards, blindly punching at the air in attempts to save his creation. Bluestreak was still crying. He screamed at his creator to run away, to leave him behind, but he only guided Clash toward us, closer and closer to his inevitable deactivation.

"No! Stop it! Get away! _Get away_!" Bluestreak cried out. His insistent yelling gutted to silence when I lifted my arms, null rays pointed at his creator. The Praxian started to tremble, gawking at me and shaking his helm.

"No…! N-No, p—please! _Please_, Starsparkle—P-Please don't. Please don't!" He begged me, voice cracking between his pleas. "I—I'll do anything! P-Please just—…Please don't kill my creator! Please don't kill my creator!"

I rounded on him with a grind of my vents, a sneer on my lips.

"My designation is not Starsparkle, you imbecile." I spat out. "It is _Starscream_." I announced with pride, wings stretched high even as they burned with pain, and shot the wounded veteran.

Bluestreak's scream echoed in my audials for breems.

"Oh, shut _up_! He's not dead yet." I hissed down at the wailing grounder, and shoved him back with a kick to the helm. There was no way a mech as thick-plated as Clash could deactivate with only one set of shots. The ex-soldier did plop down to the floor as though he'd died, but I knew he was only paralyzed. Bluestreak continued to cry, however, and reached with his only functioning arm, trying to grapple for his creator.

"His vents are still _working_, you idiot." I grew irritated at his persistence, and stomped down on his fingers.

The Praxian squealed, yanking at his arm. I ground the tip of my ped just a little harder before letting go, and he sprung back, whimpering in pain. He held his hand close to his chassis, and peered up at me, cheeks soaked and lips quivering. I huffed, and thought about wiping my ped clean.

What a pathetic slag-heap of a mech.

"Don't worry, Blue." I cooed, and skipped toward Clash's prone form. "I'll take _good care_ of your creator, so don't you overheat that tiny processor of yours." I nudged the veteran to roll onto his back, and grimaced upon seeing his mess of a faceplate. "I'm going to do your creator a _big_ favour, little Praxian." I glanced over at the smaller grounder. "He'd be _much_ better off deactivated than trying to live on looking like hideous slag," My lips spread, "Not that he'd been any better." I broke into giggles, catching the civilian's pleading, wet optics with a mischievous smirk.

"…N-No…No…! Please…_Please_ don't…!" Bluestreak choked, vents in hiccups. He sprawled out on the floor, and his frame shuddered with every heavy sob. Not bothering to acknowledge him, I sauntered to the tank pump, and scooped it up. Just as I thought, there was still a small amount of energon left inside the hose. Humming in pleasure, I strutted back to Clash, and sprinkled his faceplate with the residue fuel.

Bluestreak took one look at what I was doing, and he screamed, voice scratched with ribbons of static. He was so horrified and hysterical that his pleas morphed into a big muddle of incomprehensible syllables and terrified shrieks. He tried to crawl forward, but a kick from my ped stopped him for good.

"Do you want me to step on your hand again?" I drawled. When he simply lied there and cried, I let out a burst of a huff, and turned back to adorning Clash's helm with energon.

By the time I was done, the large grounder's faceplate was coated with energon. Satisfied, I tossed the machine aside, and took a full step back. I lifted one of my peds, and pointed my thruster heel right at the veteran's face. Bluestreak heaved off the floor. He looked up at me, and croaked out one last plea for his creator's life.

"P-Please, Starscream, please don't…!" He begged, cheek plates glistening with coolant even in the dark. "My creators are the only ones I have left. Everyone I know, they're—they're all k—killed in the attack, a-and I—…I d-don't want to be—to be left a-alone…! …_Please_…! I'm begging you!" His intakes hitched, and he beat the front of his helm against the dirty floor. "I don't want to be left alone!"

My ventilation stalled.

My joints stiffened.

I watched the kneeling Praxian, and my lips fell apart, a soundless utterance of surprise slipping silent from my vocalizer.

Bluestreak trembled. His helm has yet left the floor, smeared in dust.

I studied the low bow of his back, the cracks in his digits budding energon, and felt a deep-rooted shudder fleet across the center of my spark, where an ache awoke, one I had not remembered for vorns.

Loneliness…

I huffed a laugh.

That was a concept I understood too well.

I looked down.

I took a quiet, slow cycle of air.

I stared at the mutilated features of my captor, at my thruster hanging over his faceplate, and closed my lips, chin lowering in a slight dip.

The taste of the hose lingered on my glossa. My wings still stung with flares of agony over my sensor net.

_No mercy_, I had told my fliers, and I would give none.

With a blast of ignition from my thruster, Clash's faceplate burst into flames. He did not cry out in pain. He did not twitch even one digit. He simply lay there, still and silent, as the fire melted through the plating of his helm, and corroded into his processors.

With central command down, it was only a matter of time before a mech's spark gave out. With Clash out of the way, I turned to Bluestreak, and saw him looking at his creator. The Praxian did not scream this time, gaze aloof, expression free of agony. He only sat there, coolant falling from his optics, dripping dark spots on the floor.

The last Praxian left.

He wouldn't be staring for long.

He was low on energy, and I needed to keep him alive by Megatron's orders.

Bluestreak didn't even flinch when I gave him a shot on stun. He was paralyzed in an instance, and I knelt down, taking the small cube of energon out of my subspace. Setting it aside, I pulled him into a sitting position, and pried open his lips. Ripping off the lid of the cube, I tilted back the Praxian's helm, and poured the energon into his mouth.

Little by little, the glowing fuel flowed into his tank. His optics started to shine brighter as his systems became more stabilized. He did not seem to notice any of that, however, staring still at the dying frame of his creator. Coolant kept spilling from his optics. It was as though he had a reservoir that never ran out.

This was boring. I tipped the cube, and dumped the remainder of energon into Bluestreak's fuel intake. Throwing the empty container aside, I closed his mouth with a smack against his chin, and dragged him into a dark corner, hiding him behind pieces of fallen furniture. I had to make sure he had plenty of cover, to ensure his survival of this night cycle's battle. Pleased with my efforts, I swirled on my thruster heels, and pranced out of the shop.

Along the way, I gifted Clash one last kick as a gesture of revenge. His helm, mutilated and corroded by fire, lopped to the side, and I snickered. Hadn't I told him he would smelt in the pits? Suit him right for shooting my wings. Tickled by the thought, I hummed another laugh, and bounded for the exit of the shop.

Just as I was about leave, a prickling sensation swept down my wing joints. I paused, brow ridges dipping in a slight frown. It felt strangely like unease, and, despite knowing that I was safe, I could not stop myself from turning around, to check my surroundings. I took one look behind me, and froze with a hitch in my intakes. A pair of bright, blue optics penetrated the gloom shrouding the shop, and pinned me right to the floor.

Bluestreak was staring at me.

His optics bore into mine, glowing like icy flames, piercing from the darkest pit of the city, his home.

Murderous rage smoldered in the points of cold light, fueled by pain spark-deep. I have never received a look more hateful, and it struck me right in the canopy, clutching the essence of my being in a freezing, clawed grip.

There was something extremely unnerving about the way he looked at me, as though he did not simply wish me harm, or wish me dead.

He wanted me to suffer, and I knew, right at that instance, that he was going to enjoy every moment when it happens.

Forcing back a shudder, I flashed him a haughty smirk, and turned around before striding out of the shop. I ignored the weight of his glare on my back, and focused on the throbbing ache still plaguing my frame, from my various injuries. I walked out into the street. Without another glance at the Praxian, I took off in root mode, my tied wrists rendering me unable to transform. The air felt like hot blades against the raw edges of my wounds, so I slowed my ascend, wincing every klik of the way.

A small ping popped up from my comm.-link. I actually startled, hissing out a curse. Muttering about how stupid I was, I accessed the request, and tapped into the frequency.

:_Bladeflight reporting, Sire._: My Fighter Jet general came through. :_All hail Prince Starscream._:

:_What is it?_: I asked, stifling a sigh when I broke out of the darkness of the dead zone. I floated toward the direction of the explosions, no longer able to reach full speed.

:_The Helix Gardens has been cleansed of Praxian civilians, your Highness._: There was something about Bladeflight's wording I felt I should be uncomfortable with, but I only brushed it aside.

:_Good,_: I commended my general, :_What of Praxus?_:

:_General Ramjet is leading the pursuit for escapees, Sire,_: Bladeflight answered,:_and general Stormstrike has been focusing his forces on city center. Scouring the city will take the remainder of the night cycle, but I am confident that no enemy spark will be left alight by the time we are done._:

:_I'm glad._: I heaved a cycle of air through my vents, and flinched as my wings gave another protest of pain. :_Bladeflight, what's your current location?_:

:_I am leaving the Helix Gardens, your Majesty. I will be assisting general Stormstrike._: Bladeflight paused for a split moment, and his voice gained a worried note. :_May I ask if something is the matter?_:

:_I think I see you._: In the distance, in the direction of the crystal domes, was Bladeflight, who had transformed back into base-mode and started looking around. :_I have been injured,_: I explained, :_And I would like an escort to a location where I can converge with Pristinus._:

:_Affirmative, Sire. I will escort you._: Bladeflight took another sweep, and stopped when his optics caught my approach. He did not say a word, though I was sure he has, by now, noticed how wobbly my flight was. He was careful to conceal his shock, however, because I was his sovereign, and he must never suggest anything that might insinuate that I was weak. He only transformed into alt., and flew toward me. I hovered, and waited for him to reach my location.

My general changed back to bipedal mode, and made to bow. However, before he could, I closed our distance, and latched onto his shoulders as well as I could, wrists still tied. I did not understand why I was in such a sudden need for physical contact, but the urge was overwhelming. I did not have the time to even be surprised by my own behaviour before I'd acted on it.

Bladeflight startled. I could not blame him. I have never been close with him, and he has always placed me at a respectful wingspan away. However, I did not want that right now. I needed the assurance of an older flier, something not even my trine mates could offer.

He took care of me once, my Fighter Jet general. I was still a sparkling at that time, so my memory files were fuzzy, but I could still recall his arms, his voice, and the low vibrations of his engine. My youth had been a cloud of fear, of abandonment from my creators. They were King and Consort. They had duties. They were off-world, and they'd entrusted my care to a pair of weathered wings that didn't understand how to be soft.

However, just his presence alone had comforted me. We'd been familiar once, I think, until my parental units returned to Vos for good. Bladeflight had consoled my tantrums. He'd stayed at the Royal Tower every waking breem to be by my side. He made me feel safe, a sentiment that has lingered since. Now, above the roar of battle, keeping afloat by air that reeked of blood and fume, I leaned close to him, chin dipped down, and waited for a response, canopy still hovering apart from his.

Bladeflight has yet embraced me back. I worried he simply would not. I hadn't the faintest clue how much the Fighter actually cared about me outside of my post as Crown, so I was hesitant. I didn't want to impose. A surge of wind, heated with specks of debris, blew past us. It seared my injuries with a tide of pain, and I winced, frame trembling as I let out a strangled whimper, wings pointed down.

I must have looked extremely pathetic, for Bladeflight finally conceded. With a sigh, he wrapped an arm around my waist, and pulled me forward until our canopies clinked together. The instinct to nestle my helm against his neck cables like a frightened sparkling almost overcame my processors. However, I managed to catch myself. I was not willing to throw that much of my pride to the wind.

Bladeflight slid his other arm around my back, and started to rub my wing joints. He did not ask who had injured me, or what had me spooked. He simply held me, because he was not my trine mate, or a close companion, so it was not his place to ask. I was still his Crown Prince. I knew that was all I would ever be to him, because he was not one to fathom otherwise.

Sometimes, I wished he'd see me as more than just a throne. However, he gave me his complete devotion, and that was enough for a general.

After a while, he suggested for us to move to a safer location, and I nodded, allowing him to steer us toward a building. Landing on the roof, he held me for a few moments longer, and excused himself to contact Pristinus and the other generals to alert them of the situation. With much reluctance, I agreed, and pulled away, keeping my faceplate hidden. He offered to untie my wrists, which I allowed. My plating had been slightly dented, and I tried to rub the throbbing away.

Bladeflight stood before me. He was still, and I knew he was looking at me. Maybe he'd wanted to say something. However, after a few kliks, he only sighed again, and patted me on the shoulder before turning away to comm. my fliers.

I found a place sit down, and pulled my knees close to my chassis. The disgusting taste of the hose stayed in my mouth, and I made a face, wishing I had some refined energon to wash it away with. Trying to distract myself, I looked around, and watched Bladeflight speak on his comm. His frame was a silhouette of shadow against the bright flaring light below us. The roof felt far from the battle waging on the ground, and I wondered where Megatron was, at that moment, fighting his war.

My wings gave a tiny flick, and another wave of pain crashed over my neural network. I bit back a grimace, and offlined my optics, burying my helm against my knees.

Where in the pits was Pristinus? He should be here already.

I counted the cycling of air through my systems, and focused on my thoughts.

I was relieved Clash had not shot my Decepticon insignias.

That would have been an unforgivable offense, though I did not know why.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes:<strong> Hopefully, this chapter has given a little more insight into Starscream and what makes him tick. Anyone who remembers seeing Clash from somewhere else gets special props, and my eternal admiration. Bladeflight's dynamic with Starscream is something I'd like to delve more into, though I'm not sure if such opportunities will happen a whole lot. Doesn't help that the POV is heavily biased with Star's personal opinions, but that's the charm of first-person, I suppose. ;)

Poor Bluestreak, though. That's gotta leave a mark.

Special thank-yous time to my wonderful reviewers _silverflame_, _starscream fan_, _Random523_, _TammyCat_, _Kira michi_, _avisshadow26939_, _Koluno1986_, _Ashcola17_, _Confuzzled-Neko_, _tiedwithribbons_, _Cannonade_, _Eiswolf-Zero_, _Guest_, _Devlinn Reiko_, _The-writing-Mew_, _Sneer_, _Angelica_, and _Rosedrop13_. As always, your support means the world. Hearing from you always makes me smile.

For anyone interested, I've drawn designs of Pri and Blade. You can find them by going on my profile page and accessing the links.

Until next time, my dears, where there will be more Megatron.

Feedback would be lovely, of course. :)


	27. XXVII

Disclaimer: Do not own Transformers.

* * *

><p>XXVII<p>

By a strange stroke of fate, the same tutor assigned to Blitzwing was appointed as Firechaser's flight rehabilitation instructor. And, for whatever incomprehensible reason, the said tutor, a Striker Jet by the designation of Microburst, had deemed it a good idea to pair the two together for their lessons. The cream-yellow Striker had justified it by claiming that having Firechaser attend class with a fellow wary flier would encourage him to do better. Personally, I thought he was just lazy or a sadist in secret, forcing two pairs of frightened wings into maneuvers at the same time.

It was most painful to watch, but I forced myself to stay, simply because my presence meant a lot to Nightfire's family unit. I felt a little bad about neglecting Firechaser for so long. Regardless of war, Firechaser had suffered more than anyone I knew. I should have inquired more about his recovery, and it would've been easy to do so. A quick question during morning court would've sufficed.

Microburst demonstrated a series of fast rolls, and asked his students to follow his example. Blitzwing and Firechaser shared a stare.

"You're a Seeker. You should go first." Blitzwing grumbled.

"But you're built like a Striker, and I want to see the rolls demonstrated again." Firechaser argued, and the two started nudging each other forward.

"Come now, you two. If you don't try, you'll never be able to do it." Microburst never stopped smiling despite his chiding tone. "While I _am_ glad you are so encouraging of each other—" I had to snuff a snort. "-one of you has to take the lead. Have some initiative, yes?"

I could not stop a spluttering huff from leaving my vents. If either of them had any initiative at all, their lesson wouldn't have dragged on this long. However, it was good to see Firechaser interacting with other mechs again, even if Blitzwing was only half a flier.

"I'm surprised Firechaser is willing to be in physical contact with Blitzwing." Nightfire murmured beside me as his Seeker family member got prompted forward to do the rolls. "Triple changer or not, Blitzwing is still a ground pounder, but Firechaser doesn't seem to mind."

"He's definitely taking a significant step in recovery." I replied, a small, proud smile tilting my lips when Firechaser completed the rolls perfectly. "I heard he's doing better with his nightmares."

"Affirmative, your Highness," Nightfire's optics shimmered brighter. He smiled as well. "He still needs someone he trusts to recharge with him, but he has stopped waking up in the middle of night cycle."

"I'm glad to hear that." I nodded in approval, and watched Blitzwing attempt the rolls. He was not as quick as Firechaser, but, for a grounder turned flier, he did not do half bad.

A comfortable silence settled between Nightfire and I. It was enjoyable, as moments of peace were becoming far in-between. Cybertron was succumbing to the sweeping advance of Decepticon rule. That was, if Megatron's vision of victory and grandeur was leaving our planet practically uninhabitable. The Autobots were a little more troublesome under the new Prime, but they were too late in retaliation. A considerable amount of their soldiers were civilians, ones that did not go through proper training before getting shoved to the front. There was simply not enough time. They were little more than impulsive hordes with big guns, numerous and a bother. They were not as effective as a focused army, and their only edge was their spirit, since most of them suffered losses under Decepticon hands.

They were almost as vicious as Megatron's gladiators, pushing onward even through loss of limbs.

I still wondered, sometimes, whether Bluestreak actually survived Praxus or not. It's been decas since that battle, but I found him difficult to dismiss from my mind. Unpleasant memories of his unnerving glare kept reappearing whenever I retired for the cycle. If a mech could conjure such depth of hatred, he could probably survive anything through will alone.

Shaking my processors clear of icy blue optics, I turned to Nightfire, and decided to humour in his scientific pursuits.

"How are the anti-gravitational devices coming along? Megatron has been pestering me about them." I asked the Space Shuttle, who tilted his helm to look at me. "How's ground-frame integration development going?"

"It's going very well, I think." Nightfire answered, wings perking, always eager to talk about his projects. "There are still a few minor problems I need to look into, but overall, progress has been steady. I should be able to have a prototype ready for testing within a deca, your Highness."

My scientific advisor paused a little as though in thought, brow ridges frowning slightly.

"…However," He continued, tone tentative, "I'm…still a bit hesitant about having ground pounders in the air, Sire. You see how difficult it is to train Blitzwing, and Blitzwing has an actual aerial alt-form. How are we going to teach flight to mechs who don't even have wings?"

"Ask that to Megatron." I grumbled. "His stubbornness is thicker than his helmet. He's _convinced_ that giving his soldiers the ability to fly will benefit the cause." I heaved a loud sigh, and turned my gaze back to Blitzwing and Firechaser. "It will, naturally, _if_ his mechs can learn to properly utilize their upgrades. If not…" I felt the onset of laughter. "Can you imagine how much of a joke his army will be if they can't control their anti-gravs?"

"Oh sweet spark of our Holy Creator," Nightfire tried to retain his professionalism, but ended up with a string of muffled chuckles. "I'm afraid this will end in a big mess of things."

"Yes," I sent my companion an amused glance. "A hilarious mess."

My science advisor and I shared a laugh, and warmth soaked through my spark. It felt good to stand on a flight deck, look over my city, and have an idle chat with a friend. Firechaser had found something funny in Blitzwing's flying, and began to tease the triple changer about it. Blitzwing, embarrassed and partially annoyed, started to chase after the giggling Seeker. They soared in the air, heedless of Microburst's half-sparked attempts at reining them in. The instructor only shook his helm, and clasped his hands around his back, keeping an optic on his students playing silly youngling games in the sky.

There was a small "pop" behind me. I turned around, recognizing the noise as Skywarp's arrival. As far as I was aware, he was on duty in Kaon this cycle. I was a little surprised that he would come back to Vos without previous announcement. However, being a slacker, it was not rare for him to wander away from patrol for a small visit. He usually found Thundercracker during such instances, though, so his sudden appearance here was unexpected.

I took one look at his faceplate, and knew right away that something was wrong. Skywarp did not frown unless an incident notably troubling had happened. _Or_ he was confused about one of his elaborate pranks not going as planned.

"What is it?" I did not greet him, opting to cut the formalities.

"Uhh…" He answered in a manner only befitting the pinnacle elite of intellectuals.

"_Well_?" I asked, annoyed at his lack of a proper answer. "Are you going to tell me or stand there all joor like a gaping drone?"

"_Primus_, Screamer, gimme a break here. I'm still kinda in shock, y'know!" He replied, and rubbed the back of his helm, giving me a grudging stare. "It's not every cycle this happens."

"Feel free to explain the '_this_' you are referring to." For all I knew, he could have meant Blitzwing and Firechaser in the same flying class together.

"Well, it's kinda…uhh…_private_." He glanced at Nightfire. "I don't think I should…y'know…tell you _here_…" He glanced at Nightfire again, and I hissed a blast of a sigh.

Could he _be_ any more conspicuous?

"Perhaps…I should go review some of my schematics for the force-field dome, your Highness." Nightfire offered, but I shook my helm.

"No, you stay." I ordered. "Firechaser would want you here within his sight."

"Affirmative, your Majesty." The Space Shuttle bowed. I gave him a small nod as farewell, and walked toward my purple trine mate, extending one of my hands.

"Let's go to our trine quarters." I said, but, to my astonishment, Skywarp's frown actually deepened as he caught my hand with his.

"_What_?" I was definitely irritated now. "Didn't you want to talk about something private?"

To my knowledge, when a Seeker wanted away from the attendance of others, it meant a matter within the trine. Skywarp's behaviour was downright bizarre. He kept making odd little noises as he tried to explain, which only infuriated me further.

"Spit it out already!" I snapped, wings jerking higher.

"Okay, okay! Just—…" He held up a hand to placate my ire. "Can we—…go to _your_ quarters?" He finally made an inkling of sense, leaning close to whisper so that Nightfire would not hear.

I frowned, giving him a lengthy study.

"…Are you planning another creation-cycle party for Thundercracker?" I blurted with the blunt force of Ramjet's nosecone. "His creation-cycle is almost a stellar away."

"_Shhh_! Not so _loud_! And no, I'm not!" Skywarp shuffled on his peds. "C'm_on_, seriously! I don't want TC to know about this. It'll upset him."

My optics flickered, and I stood back a little. Now _that_ had definitely caught my attention. Giving my trine mate a suspicious glare, I nodded. Skywarp activated his teleportation sequence. In a split moment, we were inside my recharge chamber. I walked to my berth, and sat down, arms crossed as I waited for him to elaborate.

"What happened?" I asked when he failed to procure me an explanation. "Did you surpass your last stupid act of grandios proportions again?" I took a vent, and prepared myself for anything I could think of that the idiotic teleporter would do.

"No! It's not me!" Skywarp actually started to pace, fretful and fidgety. "Look, just—…Promise me you won't be mad?"

My suspicion skyrocketed through the roof. My optics narrowed.

"That's a dangerous promise to make, Skywarp." My voice hissed with an underlining snarl.

Skywarp winced, and his wings jerked on his back.

"It's really not me this time! Well, not _really_ anyways," My purple trine mate grumbled, and slumped with a half-sparked shrug, optics bright and darting. "Y'know how you told me to keep an optic on our fliers who're stationed in Kaon? Well, I've been doin that. Y'know, Keeping track of what everybody's up to and how they're getting along. With the grounders, I mean. And the thing is," He stopped his pacing, "when I first _heard_ about it," He grimaced, "I _really_ didn't _think_ much. 'Cause—…I mean c'mon. Mechs make slag up, right? I honestly thought it was just a stupid rumour, so I didn't really pay any attention to it since it's not like this is the first time—"

Skywarp started to babble, and my frown knitted deeper the more he talked. So this matter he was trying and failing to explain had something to do with the fliers I'd sent to Kaon?

To better facilitate and encourage compatibility, Megatron and I had reached an agreement, a rare feat in on itself, that more interactions between our troops were required. Not that fliers and grounders often fought alongside each other, but any rifts between faction members could result in lasting consequences. To remedy that problem, a few elite teams of Striker Jets, the sturdiest of aerial military frame types, had been relocated to the Decepticon capital. Aside from patrol duties and drills with the grounders, their mission was to mingle with Megatron's underlings. To keep a record of their progress, a small administrative staff had been dispatched as well, and so far, reports stated that things were going well. I couldn't imagine what could have possibly happened to have _Skywarp_ of all fliers worrying over his idiot aft, and his prattling was starting to severely aggravate me.

"For Primus's sakes, Skywarp. Stop _prattling_ and tell me what happened!" I snapped, a burst of a shout that startled him out of his uncharacteristic, nervous bout. Skywarp has surpassed every dumb thing I could fathom a Seeker could do without a single flick of guilt, so it was really disconcerting to see him prance around like a worried Thundercracker in creator mode suffering an anxiety glitch.

"Well…" The teleporter took an intake, "there's been this _rumour_ going around the Decepticon base, about Swiftglide…" He finally seemed to have mustered his courage to make a resemblance of sense.

"Swiftglide?" I frowned, still confused. "The glitchy paranoiac?"

What could someone like _Swiftglide_ do? He was too suspicious of everything to do any damage to the Decepticon army. Besides, he was an administrative officer with no strut to speak of. What could _he_ ever accomplish?

Skywarp nodded, and averted his gaze with a sheepish look on his faceplate.

"Yeeeaaah…And uhh…" My trine mate scratched the side of his neck cables. "So there's been this _rumour_ going around about him, right? About how he's—…Well…About how _close_ he is with the ground pounders."

I stared at the purple idiot. For a very long time.

What in the pits was he trying to insinuate?

"Well, of _course_ he's close to the ground pounders. That's his _job_." I retorted.

"No, Star. You don't get what I mean," Skywarp held his hands before his chassis, optics wide. "What I mean is that he's—…_reeeeeally_ close. Like…Really. _Really_ close."

I made a face.

"So he's become _friends_ with some grounders." I was running out of patience. "What's your point?"

Skywarp dropped his arms, and gave me a flat stare.

"Are you serio—" He huffed a sigh. "Ok. Fine. I tried to be gentle with you, but if you just won't get it—" He pressed his lips, and ran a deep cycle of air through his intakes as though bracing himself.

"Rumour has it he's been fragging ground pounders!" My trine mate blurted out. "Not just one or two, but a whole lot of 'em. _Apparently_, as long as you show interest, he'd hop into your berth with more enthusiasm than a whorebot gettin' a raise."

Silence hung between us.

I gaped at my trine mate, vision stretched to perfect circles, lips slowly falling apart.

When the shock finally wore off, my chronometer helpfully informed me that precisely ten and three-quarters kliks had passed.

"…_What?!_" I shrieked, springing from my berth onto my peds.

Skywarp flinched at the pitch.

"_I know_." He scrunched his nose-bridge, and mumbled.

Every joint in my frame pulled rigid from the sheer outrage I felt toward the accusation pointed at my citizen.

"That's—…That's a filthy _lie_!" I shouted, swinging my arms. "Why would any self-respecting flier allow themselves to be treated like that?!" I spluttered, so full of indignation that for a moment I was rendered speechless, a million reasons as to why this was clearly a malicious rumour racing through my processors.

"…It's obviously disgusting, wishful thinking from the grounders." I spat out at last, faceplate pinching in revulsion and distaste. "Primus! Words cannot _describe_ the utter _insult_ and sheer atrocity of—"

"-Yeah. I know." Skywarp cut in. "But it's true."

I froze once again, staring at my trine mate.

I could hear circuits popping inside my processing module

"…_What?!_"

I didn't think I could scream any louder, but I somehow accomplished such a feat. My vocalizer almost glitched altogether, but I was too far gone in dismay to notice.

"Exactly! That's what I thought too!" Skywarp seconded my astonishment with great vigor. "There's no fraggin' way the rumour could be true! I mean, c'mon, it's _Swiftglide_. I knew he'd be getting lots of attention, being a new Seeker stationed in Kaon and all, but he's too much of a paranoid little slagger to _frag_ anyone. And he's always keeping to himself, so I thought there's no way in the universe that the rumour could be true, b-but the thing is…somehow it is!"

"So—…what, he's—he's…_experimenting_?" I tried to wrap my processors around the idea, but all I got was a splitting helm-ache from the overwhelming wave of disgust I felt at imagining being subject to such perverse treatment. Why would any self-respecting Seeker want to frag a ground pounder? There were so many better options! Just _thinking_ about one of my own citizens being passed around like cheap shareware made me shudder in repulsion.

Skywarp only shrugged.

I ran a cycle of air, and plopped down onto my berth once more.

Silence filled my quarters.

I could almost hear the murmur of the vents.

"Skywarp—" I grimaced, and sighed, raising a hand to rub my faceplate. "As…incomprehensibly bizarre this…this _situation_ is, I fail to see _why_ you're bringing it up with me other than to—…to—…" I shook my helm. "I don't even know what you're trying to do."

Oh how my processors _ached_.

"I can't condemn Swiftglide in his choice of berth partners." I looked up at my trine mate. "What do I charge him with? Over-interfacing?"

"Well, I'm not trying to get you to arrest him. Something happened back in Kaon, and since it involves Swiftglide, Megatron told me to get you." Skywarp gave me a wary glance. "Y'see…the rumour's been givin' mechs ideas, and some of the 'Cons aren't exactly the type you'd wanna cross in a dark alley. They started targeting Swiftglide, and, well…just a few joors ago, a grounder tried to force himself on him…"

I froze.

My spark seized.

Terrible, overpowering shock silenced me.

Slowly, my fingers curled into my palms, clenching into tight fists.

The desire to maim and murder sliced through my stupor, and my optics narrowed, lips stretching into a snarl.

A Decepticon was going to die, and it would be by my null rays.

I shoved off my berth, and strode to the data pad shelf on the far wall. It slid aside upon my entry code, revealing my personal laboratory. I retrieved my null ray cannons from their perch, and attached them to my shoulders. With a rising whirr, they activated to full charge. The shelf closed behind me. I walked up to my trine mate, and grabbed onto his right arm.

"Kaon. Now!" I bit through gritted dentae, fury burning hotter than the smelting pits inside my chassis. My wings trembled with murderous rage, and every sliver of my being was focused on one purpose, and one purpose only.

Deactivating the degenerate who'd dared to lay his filthy hand on my citizen.

Skywarp stared at me, wide-opticked and alarmed. However, he did not challenge my will. He nodded, lips snapping shut, and our surroundings morphed to darkness. When light erupted once again, we were in a corridor. There were several mechs around, many I did not recognize, but there was one I knew, and I rounded on him faster than a Seeker could flick a wing.

"Where is he?!" I shouted.

The corridor silenced. Faceplates turned toward me.

"Where_ is _he?!" I seethed on my peds, null rays in a thin, grinding churn as I zoomed in on Megatron

Megatron looked at me, and took his Primus-damned time to shuffle so that he faced me.

"In the brig," He answered, calm demeanor infuriating to my armor-rattling rage.

My optics narrowed.

"You're _lying_." I hissed out. "He's here." My optics swept over the other grounders standing in the hallway, glare wide and accusatory. "There's no reason for you to still be here if _he_ isn't." My gaze returned to my lord, and I raised an arm, pointing straight at his faceplate. "Tell me which one he is, or I'll blast them all!"

"You will not." His expression hardened. "Stand down, Starscream. _I_ will be the one to issue punishment once the situation has been thoroughly inspected. I will not allow senseless shooting in my base." He stared me down, optics equally as bright and unyielding, and the last of my brittle control snapped inside my spark.

"You'd protect a violator of my people!" I shrieked, wings bristling, and swung both null rays toward him. "I refuse to acknowledge a leader who'd protect a despicable vermin exerting force on my citizen in such a manner!" I jerked my arms in warning, the barrels of my compact cannons glinting under the light. "Where _is_ he, Megatron?!" I demanded, optics flaring. "Tell me or I swear to Primus I'll blast you down! I'll slag every single one of you until I find him! Every single one of you!"

"Starscream, stand down!" Megatron bellowed, vision blazing. Furious that he'd get angry at _me_ for seeking proper retribution, I only screamed back with equal force.

"Don't test my patience, Megatron!"

"He is not for you to punish. _I_ am the Commander of this faction!"

"And I am the slagging Second-In-Command! That gives me _all_ the rights!"

"_Stand down_, Seeker. This is your _last_ warning!" Megatron's optics narrowed to slits, snarl cutting lines of shadow into his derma. I glared in return, sneer just as fierce as his scowl.

Nothing in the universe could deter me from shooting him down should he refuse me.

He did not budge. My digits dug into my palms.

I opened my mouth to yell. However, another voice barged in, breaking us from our shouting match with a single statement:

"I'm the one."

My gaze snapped to the direction the voice had come from. I watched, lips pressed in a thin line, as the grounders behind Megatron parted. A mech lumbered through, peds thudding against the floor. He was mostly gray with dark purple streaks. One of his sockets was empty, and a gash of a scar ran across it, taking up an entire half of his face.

His other optic glowed. It cast an eerie sheen over his plating. I studied him, and was taken back, thruster sliding a wingtip, by the complete lack of guilt on his features. In fact, he did not wear any expression at all. He looked at me as though I was merely landscape, and rage once again unfurled, a surge of heat that washed across every cable in my frame like a tide.

I lowered my null rays from Megatron's helm, and turned to face the vermin.

"Any last words?" I growled through clenched jaws.

The mech's functioning optic flickered.

"I was not trying to interface with him." He replied.

The sneer on my faceplate deepened.

"Of course not." My voice snarled low. "You were trying to do much worse." I pinned him with a glare of utmost loathing.

"I did not attempt to assault him either." He argued, tone gruff but indifference, and fury exploded inside my spark.

"You still justify yourself, you disgusting scraphe—"

"I just grabbed his wings." He blurted out. "I thought they were gonna fall off from all that shaking-"

"—_Wouldn't want your pretty little wings to fall off from all that shaking you're doing now, would you?"_

_Hitch._

Silence.

…

The world melted, washed to black, and I—

"…_Always loved them with wings…"_

-I couldn't breathe.

Slammed me down, and knocked all air from my ventilation.

I…

I—

…froze.

Rooted to the floor.

My optics stretched, until my derma hurt, and my lips quivered apart, a trickling wheeze hissing through my intakes.

The moment felt an eternity.

I was suspended. I could not move.

Time slowed, and the _same odor_ wafted against my sensors, one of chemical smoke that tickled and clawed to the ceiling of unlit walls.

…C—Carrier…

"_Now, stay still…"_

A glyph gurgled from my throat.

It was my carrier…!

"_Remember to relax, and you will like this."_

Coolant stung my vision.

I could not feel my limbs.

The mech with the scar was staring at me, but all I could see…was the visor.

Always that visor.

And the smile.

The smile.

…Digits stroking the wet heat between my thighs…

I trembled.

A sharp spasm shuddered through my frame, and a scream tore from my vocalizer, the same instance my arms swung up, null rays searing with a charging blast.

A frame crashed into my own, arms keeping me pinned and skewing my aim.

The blast sailed through the air. It hit the ceiling.

I screamed, and thrashed, shot after shot discharging from my cannons at the grinning fiend standing—

Right there.

He was right there!

The one with the scar jumped.

I startled.

Wh-What?

But he was—

Run.

Run.

_Run_.

Streams of tears blurred my optics.

Up the spiraling stairs.

To the flight deck.

Megatron had lunged forward. Tackled me against a wall.

"Starscream!"

His voice sounded so far.

Creator—

"**Run, Crown Prince."**

I shrieked, and clawed at the face, thrusters erupting in ignition that scorched the air and melted skin.

My wings scraped against the wall.

I screamed, and bucked, kicking at my captor and scratching at his chassis.

"Let go of me! Let _go_ of me!" My vocalizer screeched to static. "I'll kill him! _I'll kill him_! He t-touched—"

The hand stroked up my thigh.

I screamed, the sound bouncing between walls.

"He touched—"

SMACK.

I toppled, pain scalding my cheek.

The slap was enough to stun my processors, and I fell, in a clatter of limbs, sound gutting in the hall until all I could hear was the roaring whirr of cooling fans.

It took me a long moment to realize that the whirr was coming from my vents, and that the sound battering audials had been from my vocalizer.

My throat burned.

The floor was cool.

I laid there, frame in a slump, wings shivering on my back as I stared at my arms, which had shielded my faceplate from the fall.

There were dents on my wrists, grooves that only started to throb when I noticed them.

My intakes hitched in spurts.

I swallowed. My mouth was dry.

So were my cheeks.

I thought I'd been crying.

I stared, and tried to gather my thoughts.

Where—…was I?

I frowned, and slowly lifted my helm.

A mech stood over me, a ground pounder, just one, and, for a moment, my spark almost clenched into a speck, joints tensing in alarm.

However, it was not him.

We were in a corridor, and the mech was Megatron.

The cannon on his arm had once belonged to me.

"…Starscream."

I jumped, intakes stuttering, optics flickering offline. I pulled my limbs close, and curled on the floor, wincing as pain split across my helm.

Silence droned on.

Then…

Ped-falls.

Approaching my prone form.

They stopped right before me, and I shifted, tilting in their direction as my vision onlined.

Megatron stood over me. He had bent down, and was offering me a hand.

I stared at the hand. Then up at him. I slapped the hand aside, and flinched at the impact, the sound jarring to the ache in my processors.

He did not speak. Neither did he move. He waited. I didn't know for what. And his energy field, so close to mine, started to churn my tank.

With a hiss, I turned my face away, out of his view. I gritted my dentae, and fought to still the trembling of my body, wings pulling higher on my back.

"…How—…could you…?" I bit out, fingers curling into my palms. "How could you defend a rapist…and raise your hand at _me_?!"

My cry was brittle. The hurt worsened as energon rushed to my cheekplates, a wave of heat that spun the world.

I cursed, and offlined my optics, counting my breaths until the floor stopped moving beneath my frame.

"…You…don't care about me, do you…?" I whispered, breaking the silence that had settled after my outburst. "You don't care about me at all, or my fliers…" My wings quivered, and I burst out a laugh, trying to snuff the terror shaking my core that I was confronting him about this _now_, however vague, about our sickness, our depravity, tying us in a game I was destined to lose.

"We're just—…" I shook my helm, gritting my dentae to bite back the shiver in my voice, "We're all just…_pieces_ – conveniences, in your war for you to control…" My intakes heaved. I was desperate to latch and insist on any small speckle of fading anger.

"You don't care at all…" I refused to acknowledge the coolant now dangling from my optics, "You don't care what sacrifices we make for you…what sacrifices _I_ make for you, as long as they are to your advantage and your gains!" I shouted, and lowered my helm.

Megatron has not uttered a word.

He remained silent. He was listening.

It was terrible, because it gave me time to think. It gave me nothing to respond to other than my own thoughts, which had plagued me since our first encounter, the first time he'd embraced me and claimed me his.

My fists shook.

I bit my jaws so hard that they hurt.

"…Am I dispensable to you…?"

I almost did not recognize that tiny whimper of a voice as my own, raspy from my previous screaming.

"If _we_…are dispensable," I dragged my faceplate toward him, and peered at his optics, "At least _tell me_." My whisper hissed. "So that I know where I stand…!"

My brow ridges furrowed, and the sneer dropped to a grimace, the blur in my vision worsening.

He watched me.

I could not read his expression.

He did not give me anything back, and when the moment thinned, I jerked away, helm drooping to hide from his gaze.

"…If I am dispensable, _why_ would what happens to us matter to you at all?"

The anger returned, little by little, pulling tighter the cables in my joints.

"…You'd harbour the worst offenders in your base…" My frame began to tremble anew. "…and _punish_ those trying to _set things right_."

Again, silence. Heavy. Suffocating.

He did not speak even _once_ throughout my confession, not a single wire moving in reaction.

I didn't know what he could've said, only that he should have said something. He should have told me I was wrong. He should have told me I was behaving like a spurned sparkling. He could have at least scoffed, and snarled a scathing remark. He could've told me how stupid and pitiful I was, but he said nothing.

Nothing.

And that spoke more than anything I could have imagined.

…

…Of course.

What did I expect?

It has always been this way, whatever it was that we shared, yet time after time, I tripped over the same mistake, despite telling myself that I was done. Finished.

I wanted to laugh, but all I managed was huffs of air. I've been doing everything he has asked me without question, and all I ended with was an embarrassment to myself.

Very well.

If this was how he wanted to play, then so be it.

This time, I would end this.

_I_ would be the one to end this. Not _him_.

I looked up.

He parted his lips to speak.

"-But you know…" I cut him off, "Through all this, you have failed to realize _one thing_."

He paused, and closed his lips.

The malicious, cruel part of my spark seeped through my being, tone warm and snide.

I laughed, even as my cheek plate stung.

"…_You_…"

I turned toward him, glare vicious, optics wide.

"…are _also_ dispensable…_leader_…"

I spat out that word, and my vision narrowed.

"…You should remember that well."

I stared up at him, icy, calculating loathing stoking the burn inside my chassis. I pushed back the hurt I felt, and hid it under the once again the brewing simmer of anger.

This time, I swore, was the _last time_.

Megatron did not retort with a scathing comment as he usually did when I challenged his leadership. He merely looked down at me, and his expression was unreadable, optics dimmed. There was a strange air about him, an intangible potency in his energy field that I had only previously sensed when I'd laughed after servicing his spike. I couldn't understand it, so I brushed it aside.

It was probably unimportant.

His lips parted.

He finally spoke, though his words did not carry the haughtiness or irritation as I'd expected.

"…You are a fool, Starscream."

His voice was heavy, a low rumble. It held a tinge that almost tasted weary, and I was so taken back that I could not come up with even a comeback to his insult toward me.

"You are a greater fool than what I've imagined if that is truly what you think." He murmured, brow-ridges furrowing a degree as though he was reluctant to utter such admittance. His lips curled into a mild grimace, and he almost looked pained, or disappointed, as always an enigma I could not comprehend.

He never specified which part of my monologue he was referring to.

My grin dropped. I gazed up at him, all of a sudden confused. The moment was fleeting, however. It was gone before I could study it further.

"If you truly hold such treachery in your spark, I will respond in accordance to your actions." The Megatron I knew returned – the strong, guarded tyrant who loomed and did not forgive. "I will not punish you without reason, but I will watch my back." He paused, and his optics brightened in a flash of threat.

"Let me make one thing _clear_ to you, Starscream," He growled, tone coarse and syllables edged, "Be careful of how far you go." He warned, vision narrowing and bearing down.

"If you become a liability to me and my cause," He snarled:

"I _will_ kill you."

Tension swept across my backstrut.

My wing joints tightened, and my jaws clenched, spark weighing as the air pressed around me.

I kept his gaze steady, staring him down even as I stayed kneeling on the floor. I was surprised that I haven't flinched even once. We had exchanged countless threats before, but this was different. He meant it. I could tell he did. That was what I was counting on.

I needed him to anchor my decision to an end.

In all honesty, I had no interest in uprooting Megatron. I was Crown to my Vos. I had my people, who followed me without question, and Fleets that would willingly lay down their sparks to preserve mine. There was no benefit to gain from exerting leadership over a horde of unruly ground pounders. What would I do with them? I certainly had no desire to treat them as equals.

However, despite the uncertainty shrouding my spark, my expression remained unwavering. A familiar sneer formed on my faceplate, hurriedly plastered over my hesitance, and a small, arrogant smirk followed its arrival, the same moment a sweet lilt purred from my vocalizer alongside a coy quirk of helm:

"Not if I _kill you first_, my most illustrious _lord_."

The scowl he shot down at me, furious, crackling his optics, was absolutely glorious. My spark shivered in thrill and heat. My thighs trembled, and arousal slammed so abruptly into my system that I gasped, lips falling apart a breath as my optics widened. The sensation was overwhelming. The floor felt liquid under my hands. I tried to glare back at my tormenter, tried to focus on the violence and hatred toward him. This was wrong. This felt wrong. I could not speak, and when the moment dragged, Megatron became fed up with my silence, reaching down with a bellow on his lips.

"Get up!" He ground through gritted dentae, optics bright with disgust. "I sicken of the sight of you kneeling in disgrace." He grabbed me by a wing, and yanked me to my peds.

I stumbled, a hitch in my intakes, and fell against him.

He did not move me. His plating was hot, the mere contact enough to stun me with a shudder of blistering charge.

I pushed away, tore my wing from his grasp.

My engine growled as my optics narrowed, but he spoke on, uncaring of my hostility.

"I have matters to tend to," He said, "and you have yours."

"Matters?" I spat a huff. "What _matters_, mighty Megatron?" I tilted a hip, and flicked a wrist to shake off the lingering tension. "Attending to your resident rapist?" I picked at him, lips curled.

"I am here to win a war, not to judge deviant interface habits." He replied with terse words. "However, as such incident has upset the relations between aerial and ground forces, appropriate punishment must be done."

No slag. I sent out a spluttering scoff.

"If the nature of this incident is indeed malicious," He ignored my interjection, "The perpetrator will face public deactivation by my hands as an example to the troops."

That, I did not expect. I stiffened, and gaped at him. From how he'd acted, I thought he'd just—

"A decision will be made after the victim and all witness testimonies have been heard." He met my optics. "Would that satisfy you, Crown Prince?" He asked, and might've even been sarcastic, but I was too preoccupied with what he'd said to care about such triviality.

"…What the frag, Megatron?!" I blurted out. "If you'd planned on deactivating him in the first place, why didn't you just _say_ so?" That would've saved me a lot of grief and pain.

"I will not deactivate him until he is proven guilty." He answered, "There's something strange about this case that I will get to the bottom of."

The sneer returned to my faceplate.

"_You_ just wanted to press me against a wall." I snapped, and tossed him a grudging glare.

He ignored my comment.

"Swiftglide is currently inside his recharge chamber." Megatron sent me a data-burst of the map of the base with the Seeker's location marked. "You will question him the details of this incident, and report to me as soon as you find out."

"Yes, leader," I drawled. "Your humble servant is most eager to please you at every command."

Megatron narrowed his optics at me. My spark shriveled, but I stuck out my canopy and huffed, swirling on my thruster heels before sauntering in the direction of my destination.

"I'm going. I'm going." I waved his glare away, and strode down the hall. I could feel his optics on my back until I turned the corner, and only then, out of his sight, did I allow myself a moment to breathe, a hand grasping for the wall. Other palm propped against a knee, I regulated my venting, and offlined my optics. Gathering my nerve took far longer than I would have liked. My wings still flicked in shivers when I resumed my walk, but my spark had settled. The trembling would go away within a few breems.

I navigated through the Decepticon base. Surprisingly, the many ground pounders I passed all stood aside and greeted me as "Commander Starscream". There seemed to be some hope left for this degenerate bunch yet. Good news for me and Vos, as there was nothing worse than being aligned with idiots.

I entered the recreational section of the base. There were a few Striker Jets traveling the halls. They snapped to attention and bowed when they spotted me rounding the corner. I took a moment to inquire about their stay in Kaon, to which they responded positively, despite missing Vosian skies. After a brief chat, I dismissed them, and ventured further down the corridor, coming to a stop before the door leading into Swiftglide's quarters.

There was no need to knock. I entered the override code I had as second-in-command, and the door slid open with a small beep. Crossing the threshold, I gave the small room a sweep. Swiftglide was scrambling down from his berth. The Seeker looked a mess, wings twitchy, and his limbs floundered before he got onto his peds, to make a swift bow.

"All hail Prince Starscream." He whispered, gaze downturned.

"Rise." I walked into the room.

The door closed behind me.

Swiftglide's recharge chamber was just big enough to spare a Seeker from claustrophobic hysteria. It was uncomfortable at best. There was a simple berth on my right, one Swiftglide stood stiffly in front of, and a table with a chair on the left. Two shelves sat against the back wall, one holding data pads and another various trinkets. An image display screen was hung up on the wall over the recharge berth, cycling through pictures of Vos every ten kliks.

With a look of displeasure at the low ceiling, I strolled to the table, and took my seat in the chair. Swiftglide had yet moved from his spot. He kept his helm lowered, hands fidgeting with each other. By the way his wings trembled, I knew he was nervous. He has always been a nervous flier, though, so I dispelled my worries over his wellbeing, and motioned at him to stand in front of the table, across from me.

He complied, shuffling forward without a single glance at my faceplate. I frowned, a little annoyed at his lack of manners. However, this was the first time Swiftglide had private audience with me, so his behaviour could be excused. Any flier would be downright terrified to sit in a room with me, even without a humiliating topic in discussion.

"Do you not have another chair?" I broke the tense silence, trying to ease us into a conversation.

Swiftglide shook his helm in a hurry, and did not speak.

Heaving a sigh through my vents, I drummed my fingers on the table, a grimace on my lips.

"Since you already know why I'm here, I'll cut the flattery." I decided to be blunt to save myself the trouble of appeasing Swiftglide's perpetual anxious fretting. "Is the rumour regarding your interface habits true?"

Swiftglide flinched.

For a long moment, he did not move or speak.

I waited with as much patience as I could allow, and watched him with an expectant stare. Thankfully, my efforts were not in vain. He eventually responded, a nod so small that it was almost imperceptible.

My spark clenched a little, and my fingers stopped their drumming.

"Why?" I asked.

Swiftglide startled, faceplate jerking up, and gave me a gape of surprise. I was surprised myself at having made such an inquiry, since it was not exactly important to the main objective of the questioning. However, it was too late to take it back, so I plastered on an expression of apathy, and waited for his reply.

Swiftglide looked like he wanted to bolt, or melt into a puddle to escape through the cracks on the floor. He nibbled on his downer lip component, and his optics darted around, vents in quiet stutters. He clutched his hands, and, for several kliks, did not make a sound. When he finally spoke, it was a tentative, frightened peep:

"Wh—Why…what, y-your Highness?"

My wing joints tensed, and I fought to keep my expression impassive.

"Why did you…" I could not stop a wince, "…put yourself through such humiliation?"

Swiftglide grew rigid immediately after my question. He bit his lips with such force that I worried he was going to draw energon. His gaze had gone flat, into a blank stare. To my great alarm, coolant started to surface from his optics.

"…I—…I just—…" He whimpered, frame shaking so hard that I thought he was going to rattle something loose.

"Yes?" I prompted before he could start bawling and render all chances of me finding out what happened to nil.

"I-I just—…never really—" He paused, so ashamed that his wing tips were pointing all the way down, "…n-never really…had so many mechs paying attention to me before…" He finished, the whole time wearing a painstaking expression on his faceplate.

I could not blame him. I would like to avoid this situation as well, and I was not the one having to admit to wayward perversions.

"Explain." I ordered, keeping my voice even and cool. He seemed to be thankful for that, lifting a hand to rub the gathering tears away.

"Sire—…Y-You know that I'm not…exactly the most popular Seeker in Vos…" He whispered, looking down to avoid my gaze. "I'm dull and…uninteresting…and no one wants me in their trine." He stopped for a little while, as though waiting for me to tell him otherwise. However, I kept silent, because every one of his observations was true.

Swiftglide had one of the most boring paintjobs I have ever seen on a Seeker, soft browns and faded cream. His wing span was far from impressive, and he was more skittish than quick. He was ordinary in all aspects I could imagine. I'd once been told that he held the lowest academic percentage out of every flier who worked in my tower. His speed was nothing to be bragged about either, and his familial background was nothing spectacular. The only reason he had not blended into the walls back in Vos altogether was thanks to his exaggerated paranoia, though no one was sure what had caused him to develop such a trait.

When it became clear that I was not about to comment, Swiftglide continued, helm drooping lower.

"…Even Skydrift ignores me most of the time unless he wants to make fun of someone…" He whispered, looking drenched in misery, and I felt a flare of irritation in my spark, lips fighting to curl.

With that attitude, of course no Seeker would want him in their trine. I took a vent, and tried to hold back my annoyance toward his pitiful behaviour. After all, I was supposed to be sympathetic.

"Finding suitable trine mates takes time, Swiftglide." I sighed, and attempted to seem more approachable by shifting in my seat. "I fail to see how this would lead you to jumping into ground pounders' berths."

He flinched again, this time even more noticeably so.

Primus-slag-it, this was Thundercracker's specialty, not mine.

"B-But, your Highness—" The Seeker immediately began to justify himself, terribly flustered and agitated, "I've been without trine mates for fifty vorns now! And no one's—no one's _ever_ shown interest and-and—I just—…I don't know what else I can do!" He started to prattle. "I tried my damned hardest, you know, getting fliers to notice me. Th-The only reason I act so paranoid all the time is so that they would, but _still_! No Seeker's _ever_ offered to be my trine mate! What am I supposed to do?" His voice became a strangled squeak, and he gestured frantically, vents spluttering and optics once again shining with coolant. He babbled on, reciting instances where he'd tried to initiate an invitation to another Seeker only to be laughed at and rejected, and I was too stunned to respond or stop him, staring at him with rounded vision.

This.

Entire.

Time.

Dealing with his inane conspiracy theories causing unrest in Vos.

And the damned glitchball.

Was _not_ actually a glitchball?

I felt like hurling one of the trinkets on the shelf at his faceplate. Did he have _any idea_ how much pointless slag I had to deal with just because of his stupid attempts at garnering attention from other Seekers?!

"You still have not answered my question, Swiftglide." I interrupted before I could succumb to the urge of bodily harm, and pinned him with a glare. "_Why_ have you been interfacing with so many ground pounders?"

To be fair, I had no control over who my Seekers wanted to frag. However, based on what Skywarp had told me, Swiftglide had fragged enough grounders to be practically designated the resident whore. That did not sit well with me at all.

Swiftglide dropped silent in an instance, and lowered his helm until I could no longer see his faceplate.

"…I…I just—…" He grumbled, sounding every bit as shameful as he should. "I…I like…how they…notice me…"

I almost shot his aft right there.

Of _course_ the slaggers would notice you! I wanted to yell. They want to pound you into their berths!

Before I could, he spoke on.

"A-And they're…they're really not that bad…" Swiftglide shuffled on his peds. "They never do anything I don't like, and they are always gentle and careful with me, unless…y'know…" He glanced at my faceplate. "…I want it rough…"

My cheek plates scalded with gathering energon. I fumbled to cross my arms over my chassis, and hoped that Swiftglide had not seen the curious flick my wings. I was not interested in his insinuated interface tendencies. I was here to scold, not to sympathize. Fortunately, he did not seem to have noticed, and continued to explain his situation.

"They've been helping me settle in at the base," He said as he squirmed, "and they always ask me to sit with them in the recreation hall." His voice dropped to a mumble. "They always make sure I have everything I need here in Kaon. And we're all good friends…" His last sentence faded so quiet that I almost missed it, and I almost wished I did.

"_They_ are your '_good friends_' because they want you in their berths." I cut in, tone harsh and pointed. Surprisingly, Swiftglide did not startle. He only shrugged, and murmured in reply:

"At least they actually listen to me when I talk about something."

My digits tightened around my arms.

"That's hardly enough reason to justify them spreading degrading hearsay about you, Swiftglide."

"I didn't even know there was a rumour until what happened this cycle." He grumbled, and I could feel a processor-ache begin to set in. Huffing a sigh of sheer frustration, I rubbed my faceplate, and decided that now was a good time as ever to figure out just what the frag had happened in that Primus-damned corridor.

"Speaking of, care to recount that event for me, Swiftglide?" I asked through a sneer, and gave him a hurrying wave. "I would _love_ to hear you elaborate on the matter."

At that, Swiftglide gave me a few hesitant, but oddly hopeful glances.

"W-Will you…actually listen to me?" He whispered, as though speaking too loud would change my mind.

"Why _else_ would I be sitting here for?" I leveled him with a flat stare.

"Oh thank Primus!"

To my utter shock, he actually sagged in relief, and blasted a sigh through his vents.

"I thought you were going to deactivate him without even asking me!" He exclaimed, and put his faceplate in his palms.

I chose not to mention how I almost did, and he took my silence the wrong way.

Swiftglide froze, a look of horror stretching his optics as his helm shot up in dismay.

"You—You didn't deactivate him, did you?!" His voice reached a high squeak. "Oh Primus—Please tell me you didn't, Sire!"

"No, I didn't." I answered just to stop him from scrambling into panic, frown deepening when he, once again, sighed in relief.

"…I wouldn't be able to live with myself if you did…" He mumbled to himself, and anger swelled from my spark, bristling the arch of my wings

What the slag was he going on about?!

"Swiftglide, explain!" I snapped.

The Seeker jumped, cinching in attention.

"I-It was just a misunderstanding, your Highness!" He reported, vision wide. "I've never met the mech prior to this cycle. It just happened that he was in the corridor that I was passing through."

My optics narrowed.

"…Go on." I instructed.

"I was carrying some data pads," The Seeker replied, "so I didn't see the dent in the floor, and I tripped. He caught me before I could fall, and I became flustered, so I started babbling…" His gaze started to lower. His posture began to shrivel.

"…My wings must've been moving a whole lot…'cause he suddenly grabbed them! Without warning! And I panicked!" Swiftglide's wings jerked in unison "You-You see…grounders don't _understand_. They don't _know_ that grabbing wings like that would give a Seeker the wrong ideas. And of course I was…too shocked to remember that and…especially since he had me cornered against a wall in a quiet corridor, I—…I just…assumed the worst and—…and…

"…well…"

Swiftglide's entire faceplate was flushed with the glow of energon. He shifted on his thrusters.

"…He grabbed them awfully hard too," The Seeker mumbled, "but ground pounders always grab things hard, so I don't think he actually meant to hurt me. But still…"

Swiftglide fidgeted.

"…He's really big, and he has this huge scar on his faceplate, so he looked kind of evil. During the moment, it was really scary, so I started screaming, and one of the Striker Jets came running down the hall and saw us. With all the data pads on the floor and the grounder pushing me against a wall…it just—…well…" He nibbled on his lips. "…you know the rest…"

His voice trickled off.

Silence saturated the air.

For a long moment, I could only stare, jaws slack.

When the shock finally receded, I wanted to hit something. More than anything I've ever wanted to hit in my entire function.

My lips pursed closed.

My jaw-joints hardened.

Swiftglide's faceplate looked an enticing target.

I took a loud, slow intake.

"…You do _realize_, Swiftglide," I began, voice calm and controlled, "That I just dropped _all_ of my princely duties to come to Kaon to resolve your little _misunderstanding_."

My optics narrowed.

Swiftglide whimpered in fear.

"What do you have to say for yourself?" I hissed, dental plates gritted, wide optics promising painful ends.

Swiftglide seemed to shrink into himself, shaking on his peds.

"I…I'm so sorry, Sire. Please forgive me…!" He was squeaking again, and my processor-ache started getting worse.

After a long silence of glaring at the wiggling Seeker, I ex-vented, and propped my elbows against the table. I rubbed my optics with the heels of my palms, and wondered just _how_ I was going to report such inanity to Megatron without receiving any prickly words in return.

Not to mention, about how I'd reacted…

I gave my helm a shake, and lowered my hands.

First things first.

"_You_ are being reassigned back to Vos." I sent Swiftglide a glare, and pushed up onto my peds. "I will _not_ allow you to shame our city further. You are to pack your belongings immediately, and return to Vos by the end of this cycle."

Swiftglide froze. He gaped at me with shock. I frowned, and studied his expression in great incomprehension. Did he honestly think I was going to let him stay here so he can continue being the Decepticon plaything? If I were him, I'd think anything would be better than being cooped in this tiny pit-hole of a berth room and—

"No…!" He whimpered, helm in a slow shake. "No _please_, your Highness! Please let me stay!" He begged, optics filling with desperation as his hands reached toward me in plea. "I'm so sorry. I really am! I swear I'll never do anything like this again! I promise!" He peered imploringly at me, bottom lip component quivering.

"I—…I'm _happy_ here, Sire." His ventilation sniffled. "There are mechs who actually enjoy my company here, and I'm _useful_ at this base." Coolant brimmed, dangling at the edges of his wide vision. "For the first time in my entire existence, I have friends who genuinely want to be around me. _Please_, don't make me leave!" His voice pinched into a high wail, and the tears fell, spilling down his cheeks. He fretted and cried, so _upset_, as though I'd sentenced him to the Vosian brig. I was speechless, staring at him with brow ridges knitted.

At that moment, I finally understood why a simple misunderstanding managed to blow up into the mess it was now. For Primus's sakes, Swiftglide panicked faster than I could transform into jet-mode. Even for lacking a trine, this was ridiculous.

Swiftglide took my silence as a chance to plead his case. He looked at me with his round, wet optics, and wore the most miserable expression I had ever seen on a flier. His voice was a shuddering mess when he continued to speak. It trembled worse than his entire frame combined together.

"Please, your Majesty, don't make me leave!" He repeated. "I know what I'm doing is considered shameful in Vos, mingling with the ground pounders like I'm one of them…But I—…I enjoy their company. They're not as stupid or horrible as we've all been told."

The Seeker started to blabber.

"They all have their own hobbies, and-and…_preferences_. They even play silly games like we do when they have nothing to do! You'd be surprised by how similar we are to them, your Highness!"

Swiftglide shuffled closer, reaching as though he wanted to hold onto my hands.

"You can't possibly believe what everyone says, right?" His optics glowed, voice hushed. "_You_, of all fliers, should know that our rigid stereotypes aren't true."

His fingers spread as though to latch onto my wrists.

"I mean…you interact with Lord Megatron all the time," He wavered a grimace of a smile, "and he's not stupid or horrible, right? He can't be stupid or horrible if you'd enter an allegiance with him!"

My vision flickered.

My wing joints seized.

I could give Swiftglide countless ways of which Megatron was stupid and horrible, but I was unable to utter them, rendered mute by this citizen of mine, who, by all logic and reason, should elicit nothing but disgust and contempt from my spark. However, instead, his words only stripped me, left me bare, scrambling for footing on unfamiliar platform. There was something in his optics, a small, bright glint. It alarmed me – struck a shiver from my centermost core, because it told me he _knew_.

He _understood_.

…this perverse, hideous desire plaguing my own thoughts and actions.

He took a step forward.

I scraped one back.

"…I've seen the way you look at him, Sire." His fingers grasped onto my hands, and he whispered, beseeching expression morphing dark, twisted, vile.

Terrifying.

"I can't possibly be the only Seeker who has unconventional tendencies." He said, and I could only tremble, wings stretching higher and higher until my joints ached.

With a sharp, shrill cry, I shoved him off, and backed away until my wings slammed into the wall. My arms shook, but I swung them up regardless, and aimed my charging null rays at my citizen, who startled just as fearful as I was.

I _knew_ Swiftglide was cowering, as far away from me as he could, as bitten-back sobs spluttered form his vocalizer. His faceplate glistened with steams of coolant, and his intakes stuttered with fright, but that was not what I saw. That was not what my mind dictated me to see.

All I could perceive was a visage of utmost malice smirking at me with knowing glee.

All I could feel was spark-wrenching _horror_ that another flier, another _Seeker_, knew my secret, and that he _shared_ my perversion.

My guilt.

My _wrong_.

Shrill, piercing noise ripped through the tension between us.

I jumped, wings battering against the wall, and reset my optics, a tremor quaking through my frame.

It took me several kliks to recognize the sound as a siren, but even then, I could not figure out its purpose. Swiftglide was momentarily distracted from my null rays. He looked just as confused. Before I could think to find out what was going on, a ping lit up my comm., and jolted me out of my crazed stupor.

I shook my helm, annoyed with myself for the way I'd behaved, toward one of my own no less. With a sigh and a brush of hand over my faceplate, I tapped into the frequency insisting on contact.

:_What is it?_: I asked, tone weary, spark swirling still inside its chamber.

:_Starscream._:

It was Megatron.

:_Report to the command deck immediately. I require your presence._:

He sounded snappish, but he was rarely not snappish. A memory file flitted through for a split moment, one of a smile, and I frowned, before giving my helm a shake.

The high-pitched ringing was starting to drill into my processors.

:_What's happening?_: I asked, features pulling into a grimace. :_And what _is_ that Primus-forsaken sound?_:

:_That sound is an alarm for immediate preparations for battle._: He replied, snarling with anger not directed at me for once. :_I will explain the situation upon your arrival. Hurry up._:

Without another word, he cut our connection. I sneered, and muttered about his rude aft. Accessing the map of the base, I worked out the fastest route to the command deck, the throne chamber. Swiftglide was watching me. He did not seem as afraid, since I'd lowered my null rays. However, he still flinched when I looked at him, but I had much more important things to worry about than scaring the lubricant out of my citizen.

"You will remain here until I personally issue your release." I addressed him, giving him no room for argument. "You are only allowed contact when in need of energon, and your contact will not set even _one ped_ into your quarters when delivering your sustenance, understood?"

Swiftglide nodded in haste, and scrambled out of the way when I strode toward the door. Without another word or glance, I left him where he was, and made my way to the command center.

The hallways were bustling with grounders barging out of their quarters to get ready for an upcoming battle. They shouted to each other over the siren, looking very pleased with the anticipation of violence. Most of them had the foresight to move out of my way as I travelled through the corridors. Those who did not either got screeched at or a warning shot on their afts. I managed to make my way to the throne chamber within a few breems, an impressive feat considering how hectic the Decepticon base had become.

"What's going on?" I yelled over the noise as soon as I walked through the doors to the command deck. Megatron had his hands clasped behind his back. He was standing over Soundwave's shoulder, watching the screens with avid interest. He only turned when I approached him, and his optics flickered as though jolting out of thoughts.

"An unexpected attack from the Autobots at the mining outpost," He explained, tone much calmer than over comm.. "Our stationed forces have begun to retaliate, but they are struggling." He glanced away when a small "pop" cut in just as his words ebbed.

Turning in the same direction, I saw my purple trine mate, who appeared much more alert and focused than usual.

"Skywarp will teleport us to the command center at the mine." Megatron turned his attention back to me. "The rest of the troops will reach it by hovercrafts, accompanied by the Striker Jets." His gaze held mine, and the red specs glimmered, as though daring a challenge. "I need a summary of the situation from above." He said, "Are you capable of giving me one?"

What kind of a question was that? I scowled up at him, wings perking higher.

"Of _course_ I am." I spat out, crossing my arms with a huff. "You're speaking to the best flier on the planet here!"

"A lone Seeker is a Seeker in danger." He argued.

"What would _you_ know about that?" I countered, lips curling.

He ignored my quip.

"To lessen the chance of being spotted, you will not be accompanied by your trine mates." He was awfully discouraging for someone trying to convince me to take a task. "However, you will have to fly low, within firing range of the Autobots. Smoke rises constantly from the mines. You won't be able to get a clear view unless you travel below it."

In other words, I was the only flier quick and agile enough for this job.

"I can do it." I answered without a moment's pause. There was no time for second-guessing one's abilities in the middle of battle.

Megatron nodded, and motioned Skywarp to come closer. My purple trine mate followed his command, though he kept peeking at me, brows furrowed in worry.

"Soundwave," Megatron addressed the blue mech sitting at the console, "You will travel with the hovercrafts and coordinate our troops. Report to me every ten breems on your status and location. I will give you further instructions once you arrive at the outpost."

"As you command, Lord Megatron." The toneless grounder replied without missing a beat, and I grimaced in distaste.

Still an eager aft-kisser, he was.

Megatron gave him a curt nod, and turned to Skywarp. He grabbed onto the purple Seeker's closest arm, and I held on to the other. Skywarp activated his warping sequence. We left Kaon with a shroud of purple smoke. As soon as we reappeared at the command center of the mines, the thick, heavy fume of burning metal and smelting heat blasted against my faceplate and into my intakes.

I coughed, vents in short, spastic bursts of air, and took a quick sweep around.

By _Primus_ was this place a mess.

The floor shook every few kliks from explosions ravaging the compounds, and steams of dust spat out between the cracks above us, accompanying each armor-rattling boom. The ceiling groaned. I watched it with brightened optics, wary of it collapsing right on top of us. Megatron left Skywarp's side to check on the situation, bellowing to be heard by the mechs huddled by the consoles. I was left simmering in the battering noise and hot air, wishing more than anything to be out of this obviously unstable building.

"Star."

Skywarp broke me out of my glancing about. He had concern plastered all over his faceplate. It did not suit him.

"Are you sure you wanna go alone, to scout the area, I mean?" He asked, scooting closer. "You're gonna be flying through enemy lines at a low altitude. It's kinda, well…very dangerous."

"How eloquently put, Skywarp. I am aquiver with amazement." I drawled through gritted dentae, and tried to hide my nervousness behind sarcasm.

"Stop bein' a slagger! You _know_ what I mean." He nudged me on the arm, though it was more of a punch. I rubbed my sore plating, and sent him a glare.

"Our _leader_ has spoken. Do you doubt his command?" I refused to acknowledge how reckless Megatron was demanding me to be. Besides, I wouldn't back down from a challenge, especially one where I could prove myself.

"No, but I'm still getting TC." My trine mate retorted, and before I could get another word out, he disappeared, in his customary puff of smoke.

"Where's Skywarp?" Megatron walked back toward me, having learned of the situation. Before I could answer, however, he spoke on. He didn't seem to care all that much about where my purple trine mate had popped off to.

"You are to take off immediately." He seized me by the arm, and pulled me toward the doors on a side wall. I struggled a little just to show my displeasure at his rough handling, but I did not protest.

The doors slid open, and revealed a flight of stairs. The stairs led to a platform. Upon reaching it, an even stronger wave of heat blasted against my faceplate.

No wonder Megatron was sending his best out to fly. I was the only Seeker who could maneuver in this weather. I scrunched my nose, and looked out at the scene through a window with my wings stretched wide. My processors were functioning at top capacity just to keep watch on all the air currents my flight sensors were catching a whiff of. To make matters worse, if my calculation was correct, a storm was forming, breems from unleashing a hurricane of acid onto Cybertron's surface.

Not only was it dangerous to fly, I had to be fast. I was in no desire to taste corrosion on my plating.

Not again.

"Complete a scan of the outpost, and report enemy locations." Megatron shouted over the roar of battle as he slapped a keypad. The front wall slid apart, and only then did I realize that it was a pair of gates.

A column of smoke slammed against us.

"Do not stray from the objective. Do not take any longer than necessary." His voice was a mere murmur under the shrieking howl of the wind.

I winced as bits of debris beat against my armor. They nicked my polish.

"I expect to see you back on this platform in three breems." He instructed me, fighting to be heard through the noise. He grabbed me by an elbow when I lifted a hand to bat at the smoke, and tugged me close, optics flickering from the dry scald of mist billowing around us.

"Three breems." He insisted, dentae gritted in a snarl.

I gaped up at him, incredulous.

Had he _glitched_?

Three breems were too few for even _me_ under the current flight condition. I'd be lucky to scout even a quarter of the place.

My expression must've expressed all that needed to be said, for he replied before I could voice my thoughts.

"Regardless of how much you complete," He yelled over the shrill descent of missiles, "return to the command center in _precisely that time_." He wore an aggravated scowl, and I felt odd that it was not responding to anything I said or did. "By calculation, the downpour will start in just over five breems." He looked away for a moment just to glance at the scenery around us, at the scattering towers of smoke and the bursts of fire lighting up the gray.

"I want you _here_, not stranded."

Megatron turned back to face me.

He had something else to say. I knew he did.

I could tell from the slight tightening of his digits around my arm.

I nodded.

"Keep the Striker Jets at base. They cannot fly in this weather." I shouted over the screaming currents that only surged with greater force. "They lack the maneuverability to endure this."

Megatron snapped his helm aside in what appeared to be a hissed curse. He must've been annoyed at the thought of having no aerial advantage, but he nodded without remark.

Glad we did not have to argue over this deafening noise, I turned to take off, arm slipping from his grip.

"Make sure my trine mates do not attempt to follow me." I yelled with one last look tossed over my wing.

Megatron was watching me, hand lingering where he had clutched my limb.

My fuel pump hitched, and I almost paused.

I swallowed the urge.

"Despite what they might assume," I yanked my gaze away before I could lose my nerve. "They do not possess the skill to fly this wind." I sprung forward in a run, and leapt into a transformation.

My thrusters ignited.

I speared for the sky.

"Starscream!" I could hear Megatron bellowing after me. "I expect you to return!"

His voice faded as smoke engulfed me.

My joints tensed. I growled expletives, though he could not hear it.

The fragger _still_ suspected that I would defy his orders at a time like this? I would very much prefer not flying at all than endangering my own life by plunging straight into a brewing storm.

Before I could dwell on my indignation, a spiral of currents slammed into my nosecone. I cursed, a yelp blurting past my vocalizer as I temporarily lost control. My wings got caught, and my light frame was thrown off its axis, flung aside by the wind. Warnings blared in my processors. Instead of fighting against the tide, however, I eased my thrusters, and let the air carry me until I could fly around its surges.

I managed to find a smoother flight path, and allowed myself a moment of relief. The only reason I was able to avoid plunging to the ground was my light weight. Worst case scenario, I could at least ride the currents and find a place to land. Any heavier frame types would have crashed, and I was glad the Striker Jets were no longer coming to this pit-hole.

I could not rise too high. I had no desire to get lost in the fume, or worse – the gathering storm clouds. It was hard to tell the two apart, and I did not want steam of acid engulfing me. I tilted my nosecone at a slight angle up, and reached a good altitude. I began to circle the perimeter, sending data-bursts to Megatron every fifteen kliks.

There was an extraordinarily large amount of Autobots below me, but they were too focused on blasting through Decepticon defenses to notice a lone Seeker sailing over their helms. I noted their strategies, and attached my observations alongside the data-bursts. I was making remarkable progress, given that the weather was worse than the smelting pits and I kept stumbling in the air. The wailing wind muffled the screech of my engine, and the smoke camouflaged my frame. My caution started to slip, prompting me to venture a little lower to get a more precise look at Autobot formations. I was well on my way of completing the first sector, and I was determined to finish my scouting mission by the time three breems was up.

Paying more attention to the Autobots than the weather proved to be a bad idea. A front of cold air washed toward me. It ghosted over my plating, and shivered my wings, but I did not give it much thought, simply veering off to avoid the prickling sensations against my flight sensors. However, just as I started to shift, a surge of heated wind punched me straight in the belly of my alt-mode. I hollered in alarm, and tried to right my frame. It was too late.

The wind sent me spinning off to the side. Snarling curses, I flipped in the air, and tried to cut under the current before it flung me to the ground. I was low enough to make crashing a serious threat, without time to cushion my fall. I completed the flip with a tug of my wings, and attempted to dive under the wind and swerve around it.

A flicker of light caught my visual sensors.

It was the only warning I got before pain stabbed straight through my left wing, and battered me off course. It was a laser shot, and it pierced my limb. It seared through sensitive neural clusters, tearing a cry from my vocalizer, engine shrieking in spurts as I hurtled toward the ground.

I could not figure out the exact location of the sniper, but his precision chilled me to the spark chamber. I needed the cover of smoke. In great haste. My speed and maneuverability were already compromised. I did not want to take any chances.

However, before I could recover, more shots flashed toward me. I did not even have the time to utter a gasp before they caught me right on my wings, and snuffed what little control I had left in the rising storm. Shouting in fright, I battled the currents, trying to rip myself from their whims. My efforts were futile. The wind tossed me in its grip, and the heat, the scorching agony, swept a haze of panic over my processors.

I had three debilitating injuries so far, two on my left wing and one on my right. This shouldn't have caused me much grief had the winds not been so strong and cruel. Bits of debris beat over my frame. A piece of shrapnel flew right toward my nosecone. I tugged my frame in a daring veer, and the slice of metal clanged into the leading edge of my left wing, lodging a burst of energon from my plating.

Rivulets of glowing purple bounced across my striped appendage. I hissed, a strangled shriek of pain lost in the roaring noise. I needed a place to land before more Autobots started shooting at me. I had to find somewhere to hide from the pouring acid rain that was counting down to fall from the dark, rumbling sky.

It's become apparent that there was no plausible way for me to return to the platform at the command center. The storm was building its rage, soon to be unleashed to the inhabitants stationed at the mining outpost. The currents were even more erratic and ferocious, screaming as they tossed me between them, urging me to crash to the ground.

Through my frantic efforts at retaining flight and finding a sanctuary, I spotted numerous units of Autobots beneath my path. To my surprise, despite noticing my presence, none of them shot at me, only scrambling to duck under hanging roofs. They were all throwing on protective gear, with only wary glances up toward me as I speared past them overhead. This was worrying. It knotted my spark.

If ground pounders were concerned about getting burned, the acidity of the upcoming rain was going to be distressing to a Seeker, to say the least.

I was flying so low now that I was able to pick out faceplates, despite the industrial fume still clinging to the air. I did not recognize any of them, but the hatred they bore as they noted my Decepticon insignia was enough chill my spark. I was obviously not in Decepticon territory, and, from the current looks of things, I was going to be grounded right in the middle of cluster of Autobots. How lovely. Such a fortunate turn of events. Cursing my luck, I ignored the inkling of dread starting to blossom, and resumed to my search for a place to land.

What I would not give to be with Nightfire right now, watching Blitzwing and Firechaser fly little routines. Anything was better than being amidst enemy grounders without flight as an option. My best plan was to locate a safe hiding spot and wait the storm out. If not, I could find a lone Autobot, deactivate him, and steal his cloak so I could attempt flying back to the command center through the storm. The calculated chance of success for the latter was less than five percent, but it was more likely than being rescued. I had to concentrate on that thought as to not lose my processors.

During my bout of desperate optimism, I'd ventured closer to the mines. There were several entrances on an outcrop leading into the ground, and while I would much rather not hide in a hole, a hole was the only available escape I had left from the storm. Without another thought, I changed my flight path, and shot toward one of the entrances.

A familiar flicker of light flashed from the corner of my vision. Suddenly, an outpour of laser shots lit up the air around me, chasing my retreating form. It was probably the sniper from before. He had the same precision and type of laser discharge. No longer keeping a low profile, I cursed aloud, and partook in flips and turns that would have definitely killed me had I not been so frantic to avoid the shots. My spark froze into a tight, cold clench of terror. My fuel pump raced. I was so close to the entrance of the mine that I could almost taste the clammy ink of darkness, invisible talons outstretched and clawed waiting to gorge me into its depths.

One last surge of speed.

I would surely reach safety if I could just—

"-Aaargh!"

A shot struck me, right in the thruster. It gave out with a loud splutter, and I tumbled in the air, screeching in rage as I abruptly transformed. Keeping in jet-mode was no longer an option. With only one functioning thruster, my speed was compromised, but I could still carry on long enough to get to the mine entrance. So engrossed I was in reaching the hole I completely missed the small unit of Autobots I blasted overtop of. All I heard was a chorus of shouts before a wave of gunfire erupted around me.

The air was aflame with laser and cannon discharges.

"Decepticon!" A voice cried out.

By a stroke of luck alone, I managed to avoid most of them, only getting grazed. Ugly scorch marks aside, I was alive, and that was all I focused on at the moment. The same sniper, once again, started shooting at me. A blast gouged a nasty gash on my thigh, urging a yelp from my lips, but I kept flying, kept going. With a rolling stumble, I landed inside the mine entrance, temporarily sheltered from enemy fire. I barely had enough time to run a full cycle of hot, humid air before the sky cracked open with a loud, echoing boom, and the rain pelted down like a curtain of bullets.

I could hear the Autobots barking curses. They seemed to be deterred for now, and I heaved a shaky sigh through my vents, limping further into the mine.

_Great_.

I was stranded, just as I'd feared.

I allowed myself a moment to rest, crumbling into a heap against the wall. My cooling fans were a constant whirr, a stark dichotomy to my intakes, which hitched in tiny spurts. I ran a quick diagnostic on my frame. I was losing quite a bit of energon, but my tank was full, so I was not in immediate danger of bleeding out to deactivation. My systems should start cutting off access to certain minor fuel lines soon, to counter the loss of fuel through my injuries. All I would be left with was just a whole lot of agony, which was minor comfort, one that curled my lips and furrowed my brow ridges.

_Wonderful_.

I looked over my body, and grimaced. Black scorch marks cracked my impeccable paintjob, and energon that still glowed caked over expanses of my plating. However, all things considered, I was still functional. I've definitely had worse. At least I still had my wings on my back. Heaving another sigh, I decided to contact Megatron, who was undoubtedly furious that I'd failed to obey his order once again.

Not that I did not _want_ to. I sulked against the bumpy wall of the mine. I would much rather be with him right now than this hole leading deep into even more holes. It was dark, and dank, and it had a gross, wet tinge in its heated air that felt disgusting against my sensors. Trying to not think about how creepy the place was, especially with the lights offlined, I activated my comm.-system, and sent him a ping.

At first, he did not respond. Irritated, I sent ten successive pings, and tapped a digit against a knee while I waited. Thankfully, he reciprocated soon after, and our frequencies aligned.

:_I'm stuck._: I blurted out, skipping the formalities.

There was no reply.

I squirmed.

:_Is it really _that_ surprising, Megatron?_: I drawled, nose bridge scrunching in distaste.

Nothing.

Not even a blip of sound.

:_…Hello?_: I called, frowning in confusion when, yet again, the only thing I could hear was silence.

Too silent.

:_Megatron?_: I sent him another ping.:_Do you receive?_:

A burst of static, and the line went dead.

What the frag?

I sent him another comm., which he answered right away. This time, there was a small, muffled murmur from his end, and I vaguely recognized his voice, but I could not make out what he was saying.

Had my comm.-system been damaged? I did not think so. I did not receive any injuries in the helm. I ran another diagnostic, which informed me that my comm.-system was fine. This could only mean either he was having problems, or something was damping our contact.

:_Your signal is weak. I can only receive limited responses from you._: I had no clue if he could hear me at all, but I had to try. :_One ping for "yes", two for "no". Can you hear me?_:

One ping came through.

:_Good, because I can't hear you. There's either an Autobot scrambling device or this Primus-damned rain is causing disruptions. Regardless, I am currently hiding at a mine entrance within an Autobot front. I have limited flight capabilities, and no protective cloak. The Autobots have yet made any pursue attempts, so I think, for now, I am safe. Do you receive the above?_:

Megatron sent me a ping, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

:_I will attempt escape once my self-repair system stops the bleeding._: I continued, :_I'll give you—_:

Two pings cut me off.

:_What in the pits do you _mean_ "no"? Do you _want_ them to capture me?_:

Two pings, and I imagined he was probably frustrated, unable to speak to me.

:_I highly doubt the Autobots are going to leave me be,_: I explained, assuming he'd want me to, :_so I will decide on an appropriate course of action when opportunities arise._:

Two more pings came through, insistent, and I growled in annoyance.

:_Frankly, I don't know _why_ you keep negating me, and _I don't care_. I have no desire whatsoever of sitting like a target while the Autobots _surround_ me! Despite what you might think, Megatron, I can look after myself, and I don't _need_—_:

Another signal popped up on my comm., this time from my trine link.

:_Hold on._: I told Megatron, and answered after a self-deliberation of reluctance. Apparently, my trine mates were here, and I was certain Megatron had badgered one of them into contacting me. I expected to hear Skywarp, but, upon closer inspection, the signal actually came from Thundercracker.

:_Yes?_: I accessed the frequency with a dry, flat voice, but my tone has never deterred my blue Seeker from hurrying to chide.

:_For _Primus's sakes_, Star!_: He snapped in greeting. :_Why did you agree to go on such a mission? You must be utterly _mad_ to—_:

:-_Seeing as I am already stuck in deep slag, I think your scolding can wait, Thundercracker._: I leaned against the wall, and winced when it jostled my wings. :_What does our brilliant leader want?_:

There was a stretch of silence, during which I was sure my diplomatic advisor was trying his best to bite back his tirade.

:…_He says it's too dangerous to attempt escape by yourself, and he thinks it's better for you to wait and keep a low profile for now._:

:_Keep a low profile?_: I bristled, faceplate a scowl. :_The Autobots already _saw_ me!_:

:_But you said they haven't done anything yet, so maybe they plan on leaving you alone…?_:

I sneered.

:_That's about the stupidest excuse I've ever heard._: I spat out with a huff. :_Did _Megatron_ tell you to say that?_:

:_Well…No, but—_:

:_Then what _did_ he say aside from telling me to hide like a coward?_: I interrupted, patience wearing thin.

:_Give me a klik, Star._:

I blasted a sigh with a toss of my helm.

:_What's your current location?_: Thundercracker asked, the leap in topic stalling me for a split instance.

:_In one of the Southern sectors…_: I thought back, and tracked my flight path. :_E-five, I believe. Why?_:

:_There are six mine entrances in sector E-five,_: He replied,:_and we have general coordinates for all of them. Skywarp can teleport in and—_:

:_Have you glitched?!_: I shouted, wings jerking upward.

Primus-_damnit_ that hurt.

:_You're going to ask an _idiot_ to teleport to _generalcoordinates_?_: I kept going through my hiss of pain,:_Who _knows_ where he might end up?_:

Were these frag heads even _listening_ to me?

:_In case I haven't stressed this enough,_: I gritted, :_I am surrounded by Autobots! Sending Skywarp is _suicide_! The current weather condition is too dangerous for even _I_ to fly through, _at optimal functionality_. There is absolutely _no way_ that—_:

The air rippled.

My voice pinched to silence. My left wing flicked.

The current flitting through the entrance had disrupted. Immediately on guard, I activated my null rays, and stood onto my peds, optics keen and audials sharp for any sign of enemy approach.

:_…Star?_: Thundercracker's voice startled me. I almost jumped out of my armor. Cursing, I cut our line without a reply, and deactivated my comm.-system. I could not afford any distractions when there was an Autobot so close to my location, most likely uninjured and weapons charged to kill. I backed away from the entrance, and kept my null rays aimed, ready to shoot the klik the slagger came into view.

I blocked out all background noise. I ignored the suffocating humidity of the air. The deeper I skulked into the mines, the more anxious I felt. I was as good as cornered, stuck in a passageway that did not allow me much room for agility to be an advantage. However, I was not about to give up without a fight. I darted into a crossing corridor, and lowered to hide around the corner. The Autobot was very close to the entrance now. He was clearly as cautious as I was. I dimmed my optics to a fainter glow, as to not give the enemy an obvious target, and waited.

Any effort I made at being conspicuous was pointless when the Autobot finally appeared. Recognition flashed across my processors, followed by an abrupt brightening of my widened gaze. I knew the bot. I knew him enough for shock to wind my ventilation.

Bluestreak.

It was Bluestreak, holding a sniper rifle, standing at the mine entrance.

He looked different. His frame was thicker, plating bulked by military-grade armor. He's had several upgrades, so much so that I almost could not comprehend him as the meek little Praxian I'd met. His naive, expressive faceplate was now hard and guarded, and his optics, once sparkling with innocence, no longer shone, but peered, gaze steeled into a blade of blue.

Right away, I knew he was the one who'd shot me when I was in the sky. He was undoubtedly looking for me, determined to exact vengeance. He was a gifted sniper. Not many could catch a Seeker of my caliber with a rifle, not at such a distance. However, he was still young. Fueled by vengeful rage or not, could he _kill_ in close quarters? Shooting down an enemy from a vantage point was much more removed than ripping mechs apart at am arm's range. And that moment of hesitation, should the situation befell it, was what I counted on to give him a shot with my null rays.

Bluestreak snuck forward, slow and methodical, attentive for movement. I remained completely still, and waited for an opportune moment to attack. He was approaching my optimal shooting range, and an anticipatory smirk began to tilt up my lips. Any klik now, he would unknowingly step into target, and I would gladly give him a blast in the faceplate.

His peds breathed thuds on the ground.

They barely stirred dust, but I could feel the air, wings hiked perpendicular on my back.

He was watching the corridor, optics narrowed.

I crouched lower.

Vision dimmed once more, I settled onto one knee, and lifted my arms in preparation to shoot…

Suddenly, voices echoed from behind me. I did not even have the time to startle before Bluestreak swirled in my direction, and met my gaze. We stared at each other, as though shocked, despite having expected it to happen. I snapped out of the moment first, and raised my null rays. He lifted his rifle with a cry. I fired, the same moment a laser blast surged toward my canopy.

He was fast. Much faster than I thought him capable of. My aim had skewed as I dodged his shot. It scorched the wall just left of his helm. With a burst of curses, I backed further into the corridor, and glanced around for another way out. The voices behind me were getting closer, and I did not need to see who they belonged to to know that they were Autobots. This was temporary Autobot territory, and I was one Seeker caught right in the middle it. I did not have time to waste. I needed an escape plan.

I ran, as well as I could with a sparking thruster, deeper into the mine. There were no exists, only hallways that split. I had no choice but to keep going with Bluestreak hot on my trail. I could not spare even a single klik to dwell on where I was. I had to move. It was my only option.

Bluestreak's pedfalls thudded behind me. The sound echoed down the passageway of rock, hurtling into the darkness, accompanied by the rising whirr of his rifle. Blasts sailed over my wings. I ducked, and veered into a side corridor. I was sure by now that he was actively defying orders to chase me. After all, snipers did not hunt after rogues. He no longer cared about military protocols. He was here to kill, and had I not been as quick as I was, I would have gotten a fatal injury breems ago.

The mine was a maze, in which I was helplessly trapped. The air grew heavier. Vapour fogged my intakes, giving hint that I was heading further underground. The heat here smoldered with dampness that laboured my ventilation. The halls were getting narrower, the ceiling low. My fuel pump sped. My spark shuddered. My sensors seared with the need for moving air, until I could hear the surging of energon inside my fuel lines, optics beaming in a wide stretch as I sought for a way out.

The crazed Autobot was after my wings. He'd stopped shooting. I did not know why. The generators powering the lighting system must've been destroyed. I was bolting in liquid shadow, every second step shooting pain up my injured thruster. My breaths were shallow, struggling to cool down my internals. The heat was thickening, until my processors throbbed, knees weakening from my frantic pattering.

For a ground pounder, Bluestreak moved fast. I've made numerous attempts to throw him off, but he always managed to find me, optics keen despite the flickering shadows cast by the light on his frame. He shot his rifle again, the laser blast scalding past my shoulder vent. I startled with a yelp, and fell into a crossing hall.

Scrambling up onto my peds, I kept running. However, a few corridors down, I bumped into a dead end, one enforced by a pair of rusting gates. I tapped at the console, and entered my override code. It did not light up. I spat out a curse, and banged against the door.

It did not budge. Dust flaked and fell. I gave it a kick, the same moment a shot hit the door right next to my hand. I cried out, snapping in a turn. My arms rose. My null rays charged. Bluestreak was standing right at the opening of the hall, blocking my only exit, rifle aimed at my spark chamber.

My compact cannons hummed. I aimed for his helm. Our chase had reached a standstill, neither of us taking the first shot.

The silence was grating. The lack of currents and the threat of being removed from access to the sky clenched my spark in a vice grip. There should've at least been a whiff of breeze from the ventilation system. However, everything was dead now, leaving the air completely still and stagnant, which did not bode well with Seeker flight sensors.

Any movement, no matter how miniscule, sent a scrambled mess of codes to my processors. The pain still plaguing my wings did not help. It only worsened the confusion. What was Bluestreak waiting for? Why was he simply standing there? The utter stillness ground on my last, fraying shred of self-control, and fear spread, oozing into every crevice of my being, a constant in my spark that I would soon succumb to, urged by the in-born phobia of every Seeker in a tight space.

A distant boom broke the silence.

It swept through the mine, and the ground beneath us quaked, rumbling debris from the ceiling.

I jumped, scream shrill and cutting. Everything shook around us. I could feel the vibrations right under my thruster heels, and fear spiked into terror when the sound of hallways collapsing reached my audials.

Walls cracked,

Struts buckled.

Explosions erupted above us, and the ceiling began to cave, raining pebbles and clouds of dust.

"The mine!" My optics stretched wide with horror. "It's falling on us!" I was so overcome by terror that I'd completely forgotten about the weapon he was holding, armed at my canopy.

"Don't move, Decepticon!" Bluestreak shouted, hefting his rifle higher.

I did not care.

All I knew was that I had to get out before the ground buried me whole without any hope of rescue.

I rushed forward, hurrying as fast as my peds could carry. Bluestreak was yelling at me, but all I could hear was the crumbling of walls, the crackling of the ceiling starting to give under the weight above us. Laser fire flew toward me, but I managed to avoid them. Bluestreak was not aiming to kill, only to subdue. I did not know why. He hit me on the right wing, and the pain tore a strangled cry from my lips. However, it was the least of my worries, compared to getting out of the mines.

I shoved past him, strength backed by sheer desperation. I ran, flinging in all direction as I sought for a way out. There was no light around me, no sign that any corridor I faced led to freedom. My spark trembled in fear, as did my wings, and the first inkling of utter powerlessness began to weigh against me, pressing from all direction, until a tangible pressure could be felt on my canopy.

Where was the exit?

I swirled around, optic light scattered, intakes hitching in loud, hissed gasps.

Where was it?

I bolted through the dark, blind, only to find myself as hopelessly lost as before, cooling fans working overtime in attempts to bring down my rising internal temperature.

Where?!

The air was so hot, but also frighteningly still. I rubbed my faceplate, and tried to calm myself down to no avail. My optics stung, and my whole frame rattled, making worse the excruciating burn of my injuries.

Where?!

I ran, tripping over my peds and falling to the ground only to push up and run again, just to clench on to that last thin strand of hope that I could get out of here.

_Where?!_

That hope was dwindling. Coolant streamed down my cheeks. I started to scream, calling out above the noise for anyone to hear me.

Anyone…?

Was anyone there?

An explosive boom slammed from above, and I shrieked in terror, hands shooting up to cradle around my helm.

M-Megatron…

I offlined my optics, and fell to the ground on my knees.

Where was he?

Where was Megatron?

Another explosion, and debris washed down with a wave of dust, battering against my wounded wings.

I gritted my dentae, and curled into a ball, strained cries whimpering past my quivering lips.

At that moment—

How I wished for him to be here with me, keeping me safe from this nightmare.

…_Voices_.

I heard _voices_.

My intakes gasped. My optics flashed online. My helm shot up, and I snapped around so fast that I almost lost my balance, landing on a hip with my hands slapping against the ground.

There were voices.

They were close. I could hear the inflection of words.

I shoved up onto my thrusters, and sped toward their direction. I called back, vocalizer aching from the volume of my screams. I no longer knew what I was shouting, only that my voice seemed to bring the voices closer to me. I ran even faster, careless even as the ground beneath me began to break and shatter. All I could think about was latching on to the voices until I made it out of this pit-like mine alive.

More explosions, booming above.

The quakes toppled my balance, but that was not enough to deter me.

I started to crawl, and kept calling at the voices.

Suddenly, forms came into my view. I froze to stillness, unable to believe my optics.

Several wing spans from my location, there were a small group of Autobots, blue optics peering back at me in equal surprise.

None of us moved, even as the ground under us started to give.

One of the Autobots lifted a hand, and pointed at me before a string of words bellowed out of his lips. I did not make out what it was. I did not have time to.

At that exact moment, the ground under me collapsed.

I shrieked in terror, and cried even louder as the ceiling started to break apart right on top of my frame. Rooted to the spot by spark-clenching fear, my thoughts scrambled, and logic dispersed into smoke. I no longer knew what to do. I was overwhelmed by hysteria, processors failing to function on reason.

I was going to die.

I knew I was going to die.

Suddenly, another Autobot, a red and blue grounder, reached toward me. His optics caught mine, firm, calm. It held my desperate gaze with a strength and bravery I did not have.

I reacted.

Impulse drove my actions.

My only thruster sputtered into activation, and I shot forward, arms outstretched towards the mech who offered me protection.

I flew with an abrupt surge of speed, and dove for the embrace of the ground pounder.

My canopy hit the hard plating of his chassis, and I threw my arms around his shoulders, burying my helm against his neck cables.

He wrapped his arms around my waist, and turned to shield me from falling rocks.

Screamed words and loud cries of alarm.

The Autobot that held me was moving, dashing forward to where I could not see.

He leapt, and suddenly, we were falling.

I could not tell if I was screaming, only that I clutched the Autobot so tight that my joints hurt under the strain.

We fell, the noise around us thunderous and terrifying.

We plunged down, all the way to the bottom. I screeched in pain as something landed on my right wing.

I did not have time to see what it was. The back of my helm tossed backward by the momentum of our fall. It hit something hard, and my vision misted with static, processors stalling upon impact. Throbbing enveloped my consciousness. I could not understand what had happened.

My thoughts slowed, and dissipated.

They fleeted into the hazy shroud of darkness, and disappeared, engulfed by the yawning chasm into which my awareness fell.

I sank into its inky depths. All sensations left me.

The last thing I saw before my optics offlined was a pair of bright, blue optics, shining with blatant worry, peering down at me.

And I wondered, lips falling apart…

…as to _why_ they were not _red_.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes:<strong> At last, this chapter is here! Hopefully, the length has made the wait worthwhile.

The biggest of thanks to my reviewers, especially those who've stuck with this story despite the slow updates. To _Ashcola17_, _starscream fan_, _estella-clamatis_, _Cannonade_, _Zelach_, _Guest 1_, _Rosedrop13_, _Eiswolf-Zero_, _The-writing-Mew_, _Guest 2_, _silverflame_, _Khysani Myrical_, _Devlinn Reiko_, _Confuzzled-Neko_, _ladyredvelvet_, _prismadecepticons_, _Sulktora Storm Dragoness_, _Guest 3_, _Guest 4_, _lol-mech_, _Dark-Kumineko_, _LightBlueSpartin343_, _Spark_, _Jeanette_, _Voltax_, _DreamMaster08X_, and _Anonymous Anon_, thank you so much! I say this all the time, but I honestly can't express how much your support means to me, and how greatly I appreciate it.

I'm sorry I haven't had time to reply. Please know that I have read every single review, and am thankful for every word you've left me.

Updates should be more regular now that my auditions are done. Next chapter is another lengthy one, though, so it might take some time to get here, especially since I'm out of the country at the moment.

I promise I'll try my best, and hope that you've enjoyed reading this chapter. :)

As always, I would love reviews. I enjoy reading your comments.

Much love!


	28. XXVIII

**WARNING:** nsfw material; blood; injury; torture; triggered flashbacks

Disclaimer: Not yet, not yet…

* * *

><p>XXVIII<p>

I was floating.

The sensation was…strange. Impossible.

I did not know why I couldn't be floating, only that it wouldn't make sense.

However, regardless of what my remerging processors insisted, I felt as though I was floating.

Warmth enveloped me. It soaked through my being. It was almost comfortable, but I _knew_, like an instinctual itch, that I was not supposed to enjoy it. I brushed the thought aside, and let out a soft ex-vent. Something moved around me. I frowned a little, and squirmed, trying to get away that firm weight.

It moved. A hand rubbed my wing joints. I jolted, vocalizer emitting a warbled keen. There was a low voice, rich and gentle in timbre. It was speaking to me, but before I could decipher its words, my neural network flashed online to full activation.

Excruciating agony crushed against my sensory system. I jerked awake, and my lips fell apart, a scream tearing through the calm. My frame trembled. The pain wrecked all sensible thought from my mind. I tried to piece together where I was, and what was going on. My processors ran an automatic diagnostic. My wings suffered the most injuries, though my helm and thigh also throbbed.

Vents spluttering, I tried to pull away from what was holding me down, only to find that it was firm, stronger than my efforts. Optics flickering on, I finally managed to stomp a damper on my turbulent panic, and looked around in attempts to understand my surroundings. I was in a cave, and two pairs of optics peered at me from the opposite side.

They were not my immediate concern.

Someone was holding me. And that someone had a gaze of blue, along with a red emblem that stated his faction.

Autobot.

Enemy.

_Kill_.

The three words seared across my mind like spears of fire. I startled, optics widening. My weapons system whirred on. Charge surged through my arms. I clenched my hands, ready to shoot, only to find that my null rays were—

…not…on me.

Alarm hitched my intakes. I started to thrash, shouting insults, wings shuddering in dismay, which only worsened the pain. Energon splattered in droplets. I gritted my dentae against the burn digging into my appendages. Despite my valiant struggles, the Autobot did not relent, only tightening his hold around me.

I let out a screech of indignation, to mask the sinking cold of fear. Just as I clawed for the enemy's optics, he pinned me with a stare, and the same low voice returned, freezing me mid-attempt.

"Starscream, _calm down_."

I froze, gaping at him.

Like a ruptured fuel sac, I deflated, tension bleeding from my joints as my wings sagged on my back.

I stared at the Autobot, who appeared relieved that I'd stopped screaming. I felt thoroughly flabbergasted. We were enemies. What was he doing telling me to _calm down_ when he had all of his weapons and I did not? He didn't seem keen in shooting me with his weapons either. How strange.

"…Wh…What?" I asked, bewildered and dumb. My processors were stuttering.

The Autobot tilted his helm as though he did not understand what I was asking, but he answered, after a small pause.

"We are currently stuck in a cave-in." He didn't sound all that bothered about being buried under Primus-knew how much rubble. "You have my word that you will not be harmed, but, as a safety precaution, you have been relieved of your weapons. They will be returned to you once all of us escape."

I continued to stare, while the information sank in. His words were not the only thing starting to dawn on my mind. We were stuck in a mine, in a _cave-in_. It was Worst Case Scenario any flier, and, to make matters worse, I was stuck underground with _Autobots_.

My wings started to shake. Even the pain could not stop them. I was stuck underground, in a cave-in, in a small space, in the dark, with the enemy, in a tiny hole, without moving air, without light, without—

My comm.-system!

I could reach Megatron! And he could dig me out!

He was a miner once. If any mech knew how to dig, it would be _him_.

I hurried to activate my communications system, _hope_ a spread of warmth in my spark.

All I heard was static.

I froze, optics wide, unseeing.

I tried my trine link, as I could sense my trine mates, but I could not hear their voices, though I knew they were attempting to establish contact with me.

_Primus_…

Just how long was I going to be stuck down here for?

The cave was not small, but it was not roomy enough to allow ease of movement. The air was dead. Hot, and still. It was _humid_. Moisture misted my plating. Everything felt uncomfortable, and my wings hurt. They hurt like slag, and I felt so _bare_ without my null rays, stuck in a cave with the enemy.

Why did I always end up in situations like this?

A tentative touch on my wing joints jolted me out of my thoughts. I hissed a sharp gasp, and abruptly realized, to no small astonishment, that I was still being held by the Autobot.

Why the slag was he holding me in the first place?

I shook my helm clear, and sneered at the ground pounder. Something about him felt _familiar_, and my sneer fell into a confused grimace.

Where had I seen him before…?

Blue helm, blue optics, facemask, red torso, white thighs…

Recognition lit up my cortex.

_Optimus Prime_.

My optics widened. My canopy heaved with a wheezing intake.

I gaped down at the leader of the Autobots, and started to struggle once more, fervor renewed.

My thrashing was so sudden that the Prime startled, but he was quick to recover. His hands grabbed me by the wrists. He was trying to restrain me.

"What in the pits are you doing?!" I cried out, yanking at my arms to free my captured limbs. "Don't _touch_ me!"

"I am trying to help you!" He tugged me back down.

I fell onto his lap, and the indignation of a supernova erupted inside me. A shriek of fury ripped from my vocalizer, and I bucked against him with greater force, kicking him when I couldn't punch.

"Let me go!" I yelled, curling my knees so I could brace my peds against his torso and launch myself away.

"You'll only end up hurting yourself!" He argued, optics flashing into piercing brightness.

"And why is that any of your concern?!" I glared, dentae gritting.

"You are in the same situation as all of us, which makes you _my_ responsibility." He refused to relent, determination unwavering despite my most violent of efforts scraping paint off his derma.

"I'm not your Primus-damned _anything_, Autobot! Let go of me before I stick my thrusters in your face!" Threats blurted past my lips. They were always convenient and effective in getting me what I wanted.

"I am offering you _protection_, Starscream, but I will _not_ hesitate in using necessary force to subdue you should you endanger yourself or my comrades." He never stopped using that infuriating, pacifying tone, which only stoked my anger.

"I'd like to see you try!" I snapped in a shout, optics narrowing.

"You are already injured. _Please_, I don't wish to hurt you further!" He did not budge, stubborn and resolute.

"Then let go of my arms, you brute!" I thrashed with greater strength, hissing and shrieking insults. "I don't care if you're Prime or the Holy Creator incarnate himself. I am Crown Prince Starscream, second-in-command and air commander of the Decepticons. I will not allow you to handle me as you like. I will not bend to your will. And I _most certainly_ will _not_ allow you to _hug_ me like some overgrown, needy sparkling!"

"Oh for frag's sakes, _shut up_!" A new voice barked out, snarling in annoyance. "D'ya _want_ the slaggin' ceiling to fall on us again?!"

My fight with Prime hit a pause.

I snapped toward the direction of the new voice, and met one of the two pairs of optics I'd previously caught sight of. A red ground pounder was sitting against a wall of rock, posture a sprawl, though his expression sported a scowl for my shrill voice. Under normal circumstances, I would have shouted back at a higher pitch just to spite him. However, the content of his words made me swallow my retort.

Wings flicking in nervousness, I gave the ceiling a few tentative glances, and my drive at separating from the Prime dissipated.

"…It…might fall again?" I whispered, curling slightly into myself as my spark shriveled in apprehension. It got worse when the red mech only pressed his lips together. He did not answer.

"Nothing is certain," Optimus replied instead, prompting me to turn my gaze back to him. "However, the quakes seemed to have settled for now, so we are safe, albeit temporarily."

I stared at him, wondering how he could be so calm and collected during a situation like this. He still held my wrists, though his grip never crushed. I forced back a churn of revulsion toward his touch, and decided to take a fuller grasp of my surroundings.

We appeared to be in a hallway, each end blocked by rubble. The walls bore cracks, and the ceiling looked like it was about to buckle at any klik. Not counting the artificial currents of cooling fans, the stillness in the air indicated that we were sealed tight in this tiny, makeshift cave. The lighting system, just as before I got stuck in this mess, was still deactivated.

The red mech who'd snapped at me was glowering at the wall in front of him. From his sour expression, I could only guess he hated this situation almost as much as I did. That would not be surprising, considering how thick his armour was. We were stuck in a bubble of heat, and his build definitely did not help maintaining his internal temperature any easier. He looked like a front liner, but I knew too little about ground pounder military frame types to be sure. He caught me staring, and sent me a flash of a glare. I narrowed my optics back before jerking away with a huff. He did not deserve my attention.

There was another mech sitting beside the red one, about a wingspan away. He was very small. Even smaller than I was, oddly enough. He was mostly yellow with chunks of black. He peered at me, round, blue optics bright and curious. He looked way too young to be fighting a war, and his little frame suffered many dents and burns. Not that I cared about the enemy, but sending younglings into battle was taboo even amongst the Decepticons, and that rotten bunch hardly had any reservations.

"You Autobots employ _younglings_ into your army?" I turned back to Optimus, and sneered right in his faceplate.

At first, the Prime did not seem to know what I was asking about, a slight frown between his brows. Then, with a flash of his optics, he perked in understanding.

"Bumblebee is not a youngling." He replied.

A snicker followed his answer. I turned in its direction.

The red mech burst into laughter at my look. His helm tilted to the side, and he glimmered down at the yellow Autobot, who started to make a ruckus despite his small size.

"Shut _up_, Sideswipe! That joke is _so_ old!" The little mech, who was apparently designated Bumblebee, puffed in frustration toward his bigger companion. If he was trying to intimidate, he was failing with more spectacle than a Vosian banquet. The expression, placed on his round faceplate, was humourous at best, ridiculous at worst. Sideswipe obviously thought it hilarious. He threw back his helm, and laughed even harder, an arm clutching around his abdomen.

Bumblebee made a face that ended more like a pout than a scowl, and swirled away from his giggling comrade. He met my optics instead, and stuck out his chassis as though the gesture would make him appear more respectable.

"I'm not a youngling." He announced, determined to regain his pride. "I'm a minibot!"

Minibot.

I'd heard of that frame type before, but I could not quite recall where. I frowned, and searched through my memory banks.

_Ahh_.

Soundwave's runts were minibots before they went through modifications to become compatible with the blue mech.

With a quiet hum, I gave Bumblebee a once-over, and ignored how he deflated upon seeing my unimpressed purse of lips.

"…You don't remember me, do you?" A small murmur from the little Autobot roused a frown from my brow ridges.

"What in the pits are you talking about?" I snapped, and narrowed my optics in suspicion. Despite his youthful features, Bumblebee was still an Autobot, an enemy.

"Well…We've met before." The yellow mech gazed up at me, hopeful that I would remember.

I did not, nor did I feel like making a scan through my memory archive to do so.

Bumblebee did not give up.

"You look…a lot different from the last time I saw you, though. A different paintjob, I mean." He kept looking at me, optics expectant. "But your faceplate's still the same, and I recognize your designation." He kept _talking_. "You told me who you were when we met."

I sucked in a hiss of annoyance, dentae gritted.

"Regardless of what your obviously deficient processors choose to believe, I fail to see how we could have possibly _ever_ met." My lips curled. "Even _if_, by a miniscule chance of coincidence, we'd run into each other prior to this meeting, I can't imagine how it could've held any worthy significance for me to grace you with my designation." I bit out, voice cold and curt.

The little yellow mech cringed, and dropped his gaze.

A growl rose from beside him. Sideswipe was glaring at me, blue optics burning with icy loathing.

"You should be more _thankful_ towards Bee, Deceptiscum." He spat out, fingers tightening around the blaster by his side. "If it weren't for him, I would'a _slagged you good_ by now."

"And yet _here you are_, cowering in the farthest corner away from the harmless, trapped 'Deceptiscum' to whom you'd disabled the weapon systems of, _while_ said Deceptiscum was unconscious." I scoffed. "What valor and viciousness you Autobots boast of. I am _quivering_ with _terror_." I purred, grin sickeningly sweet as I taunted him, daring him to attack. "Big words from a weak, soft-sparked coward." I lilted, voice coy and raspy.

His reaction was immediate.

"You little glitch!" He sprung up onto his peds, and grabbed his blaster. "I oughta—"

"_Sideswipe_!" Optimus's digits tightened around my wrists. His voice echoed an edge I did not anticipate him to have. "Desist at once!" He commanded, but Sideswipe remained standing, refused to back down.

Silence stretched thin between us. It tingled my flight sensors to an uncomfortable itch.

The Prime, at last, was the one to break it, a soft sigh trickling through his vents as his posture sagged.

"Do not rise to his taunts." He placated, tone soothing and gentle. "You will only give him what he wants in acting this way." He seemed tolerant of Sideswipe's enduring insubordination, and actually waited for the red mech to concede instead of enforcing his underling to follow.

Eventually, Sideswipe did as asked, flopping down to his previous sitting position. He tossed his blaster aside, and continued to glare at me, the heated glower not easing in the slightest until he turned to address his leader.

"With all due respect, _sir_," The red Autobot snarled deep in his throat, "Sometimes you're just too _soft_." The fuming grounder stared at the Prime, then jerked his optics away. "…Sometimes you gotta _beat _it into 'em."

Optimus took a ventilation.

"All Cybertronians, no matter what they have done," He answered, "deserve a chance for redemption, Sideswipe." He sent me a glance, as though his words were addressed to me as well. "Reacting to their jibes with violence will only worsen the situation, hence diminishing our chances of reaching out to them."

"Some don't _deserve_ reaching out to." The red mech muttered, staring forward in a simmer of murderous rage. "Some _deserve_ what they have _comin'_ to 'em."

The Prime did not reply for a while. His vision dimmed.

"I am very sorry you think so." He spoke as though he genuinely meant it. "However, I understand why you would, though I hope that, with time, you will come to understand me as well." He looked at his soldier, gaze consoling, warm.

"Revenge will not bring you peace." He said.

Sideswipe was still, frame pulling rigid. His jaws tensed, and he glanced away, ending the conversation with a spitting of last words.

"For Sunny an' I, it will." He gritted, and crossed his arms over his folded knees.

For nearly a breem, no one spoke. The Prime's words hung in the silence, and no one seemed keen in breaking the air. However, the moment of peace only lasted until I noticed that Optimus Prime was still holding my wrists.

My lips curled.

"Have I not explicitly told you to _let go_ of me?" I growled out, and tugged at my wrists to dislodge his hands. "Why are you so insistent on pulling me into your lap, you perverse degenerate?"

We battled some more, neither of us giving in. The Prime finally became fed up with my attempts at escape, and heaved a deep, exasperated sigh. He yanked me forward, jolting a hitch in my vents, until our faceplates were a mere wingtip apart.

"We are stuck in a cave-in without a method of communication to reach the surface." He began, a glint of authority flashing in his optics. "The battle was ongoing when the mine buried us, so the possibility of either faction locating us soon is practically nonexistent. You are a Seeker, trapped underground with a limited amount of space. The air does not move. Everything about the current conditions indicates disaster for you."

I gaped at the Prime, lips slightly parted, ventilation held.

"However," He continued, gaze easing to a softer glow, "if you will only allow me, I can _help_ you." He leaned back, to a respectful distance. "Regardless of our loyalties, I am in no desire of seeing you hurt from claustrophobia-induced craze."

The weight of his words made me shiver, but I was tenacious, clutching onto the last shred of anger I felt. This could be a trick. I'd make the perfect hostage for the Autobots. How was I to know that the enemy wasn't digging as we spoke?

Not willing to let the Prime convince me with such ease, I scowled, and narrowed my optics.

"What would _you_ know about Seekers?" I hissed, skeptical that a ground pounder would be familiar with anything Vos related.

"Enough to know the consequences if I were to leave you alone," He answered, which did not satisfy me in the slightest.

"I've been faring fine thus far, without your _meddling_." I ground through my dentae, defiance swelling my energy field.

"Only because you've been distracted," Optimus was equally stubborn, "and it hasn't even been ten breems since you regained consciousness," He was determined to make me concede.

I pursed my lips, and refused to respond.

He ran another cycle of air.

"There is no way of knowing how long we will be stuck here for." He explained, "It's been a joor since the quakes stopped, and none of us has detected any noise that would suggest rescue." His fingers tightened around my wrists, though not enough to hurt. "Is your pride not worth your life, Starscream?" His brow ridges knitted. "_Let me help you_." He implored. "I don't want to see you overcome by hysteria and harm yourself in the process."

Optimus Prime reminded me of Thundercracker, with his patience and reason. Pursing my lips, I averted my optics, and grumbled a curse. He was right. I knew he was right. However, he was the enemy, the _leader_ of the enemy, and to submit to the likes of _him_ churned my tank to great discomfort.

I _could_ continue to refuse compliance, but, as the Prime had so blatantly put it, the resulting experience would not be pleasant for me. I've been doing well at keeping my terror at bay, but that did not mean it wouldn't get worse. It was only a matter of time before it got worse, and there was nothing I could do about it other than waiting it out.

"How do you plan on helping me then, O-noble-and-benevolent-Prime?" I drawled, opting for sarcasm to ease the sting on my pride. "I didn't know you made a hobby out of treating fliers and their phobia."

"I don't know much, only what I've read." He ignored my snide titles. "I know continuous stimulation to the wings will help anchor the Seeker, and I will keep my cooling fans at maximum turn to create artificial currents. Those are the only ways I am aware of. If you have any suggestions, I'd be happy to hear them."

"Where in the pits did you _learn_ such old-fashioned methods?" I mumbled just to steer my processors away from the thought that I was going to have to straddle the Prime and plaster myself against him like a parasitic drone. Optimus paused, as though contemplating whether to answer me or not. Eventually, he did:

"I learned about them from the scientist Skyfire's essays."

That designation froze me.

My joints stiffened, spark tensing inside its chamber.

I was so distracted by what the Prime had said that I did not react even when he took advantage of my silence, and pulled me closer. He draped me over his chassis, and placed one of his hands on my back, between my wing joints. When I gave no indication of protest, he started to rub circles, tingling pleasant sensations down my sensory network even against the pain I still had to endure.

I was not merely startled by the mention of Skyfire. It made sense for the Prime to research my background for battle-related stats, and Skyfire's essays were the only trustworthy source of information the ground pounders had toward flier frame types.

However, something still nagged at me.

There was another mech who'd once told me the same thing.

A dock worker, who was also coincidentally blue, red, and white. The one who'd admired my form as though I was the most beautiful being he had ever seen.

Orion Pax.

I had lost contact with him ever since Tarn. I'd attempted comm. contact with him a few times, post battle, but his frequency could not be accessed. He must've either deactivated, or blocked my frequency. I suspected the latter, for I hoped it was not the former. I worked too hard to get him out of the outskirts for him to die, not to mention how much I paid for my supposed indiscretion from Megatron. I would not be surprised if he did not want to have anything to do with me ever again. However, as much as I hated to admit, I did feel a little hurt that he hadn't at least thought to thank me. Meeting me and being spared by my will was much more than a simple privilege. It was a great honour. The least he could do was tell me off before ignoring me altogether.

Optimus Prime grew bold during my moment of internal reflection. He put both of his hands on my wings, and massaged the plating, fingers rubbing along the edges of my wings, stroking my flight sensors. He even had the gall to squeeze my wing tips. He was having too much fun pawing at my most prided appendages. I started flicking my wings away at uneven intervals just to make things difficult. It was incredibly satisfying to see the Prime reach for my wings only to end up grasping air.

Though old-fashioned, the method was effective. While the threat of being overwhelmed by fear remained daunting, I was as comfortable as I could be, despite the fact that the cave was too small for any flier to be in. One of the reasons stimulating the wings helped was that it relaxed. Troublesome sparklings often got their wings rubbed just to prompt them into recharge.

Be it the actions themselves or a long-ago conditioned response, I started feeling drowsy. The Prime's cooling fans made a constant hum in the dark, its steady pitch making me lethargic and dazed. Even the pain was now ebbing into a potent throb, bothersome, but no longer excruciating.

Kliks dragged into breems, and breems into a joor. The quiet remained undisturbed for the most part. Bumblebee made a few attempts at starting a conversation, but Sideswipe rebuked them. Prime did not speak. He only tilted his helm, and cast his gaze toward his subordinates to make sure the front-liner did not go over the line with his rebuttals. For enemy factions trapped in close quarters, the mood was almost peaceful. Before I could make an effort at stopping myself, I fell into recharge, limp against the Prime.

I was jolted awake when someone grabbed me by the arm, and yanked me back onto my peds. Disoriented and confused, I wobbled. The hard frame I was pressed against became the only support I had at keeping me upright. A thick arm wrapped around my waist, and a loud, booming voice started to shout.

My processors were foggy. I couldn't make sense of what was going on.

I leaned against the warm frame, and murmured a blur of syllables as my mind tried its best to shake off the drowsy haze.

The plating felt familiar. Its paint was coarse, laced with crisscrossing scratches that cut into derma. The hand around me, clenching just a little too tight, was familiar as well. So was the voice, gruff and growling deep.

I squirmed, and onlined my optics. At first, all I saw was a broad chassis, one of peeling paint and injuries that still gleamed. I wiggled, and tried to back away so I could better see. However, the arm around my waist squeezed tighter, rousing a pained whine from my vocalizer. The mech holding was filthy, armor caked in drying energon and dirt. The sight repulsed me, so I craned my neck cables to lean away, and finally caught sight of a wider visual field.

The first thing I noticed was the purple Decepticon insignia, barely visible under a moist smear of gut. As I lifted my helm, I saw a faceplate, twisted in the fiercest scowl I have ever seen. Flaming red optics shone from the splash of shadow, piercing the dark like burning beacons. They speared over my helm, at someone behind me, someone the scarred pair of lips were roaring bellows toward.

_Megatron_.

I gasped, gaze widening, wings jolting higher.

The haze cleared.

Megatron was holding me, grip relentless. He wasn't wearing his helmet, mining panels stretched outwards, flanking his faceplate. This battle had not been kind to him. There was a gash on his side that continued to trickle streams, and not a single spot of silver peeked from beneath the splotches of fuel and grime. Acid burns littered his frame, the most prominent one being the discoloration on his cheek plate. However, none of it could match the most striking of his appearance, one that overtook all:

Megatron, plainly put, more furious than I had ever seen.

"What have you done to him?!" He bellowed, voice booming in echoes inside the small chamber. His right arm was hefted in the air, aiming the fusion cannon at someone behind me. I turned, as well as I could, and found Optimus Prime facing the end of the charging, humming barrel.

The Autobot was silent, posture straight but cautious.

Other Decepticons were present as well. They had Sideswipe and Bumblebee pinned, and the red front-liner was cursing up a storm, spitting and thrashing against the hands shoving him down.

The minibot glanced back and forth between the Prime and my lord, optics wide and round with terror.

Optimus dipped his helm.

"I have done nothing of the sort you suspect, Megatron. I only did what was necessary to keep him safe." He said, optics glued to the pair of red, raging infernos glaring at him from a seething ex-gladiator.

The Prime was smart to keep his voice soft and meek. Megatron appeared mad enough to do anything at the smallest provocation.

"His trine mates informed me to expect severe damages on his person, but there isn't any to be seen." Megatron bit out, baring his dentae through his sneer. "Explain, _Prime_. And make it quick." He spat out the title as though it tasted putrid, and narrowed his glare at the Autobot commander.

"I would never stand by and watch while another brings harm to himself. There are ways to calm a flier trapped in small space." Optimus answered, frame slightly crouched for the effect of docility. "I did not mean to touch your Seeker." He added on as a careful afterthought, and I frowned, lips curling.

What the frag?

"I'm not _his_." I blurted, scrunching my nose bridge. "I'm not _any_one's."

All optics zoomed on me. I perked up in response, more than happy to be at the center of all their attention.

"And why are you _holding_ me?" I lifted my helm, and gave Megatron a revolted grimace. "Let _go_, for Primus's sakes. You're _filthy_." I pushed at his arm, and made a face at the various stains and burn marks on his frame.

Megatron's optics narrowed. His fingers curled harder into my side, and I yelped, shoving at his hand as shallow dents blossomed over my plating.

"_Ow_! You're hurting me, you brutish imbecile!" I shoved his chassis, and started to struggle. "Let go!" I tried to pry his digits off from my waist, but they refused to budge.

Aggravation, fueled by the pain from my injuries, erupted from my spark. Without a second thought, I lashed out at him, a sharp shout snapping from my vocalizer as I raised a hand:

"I said: _let go_!"

I slapped my lord hard on the faceplate.

A collective gasp of shock echoed in the small, makeshift cave. Megatron actually hissed in pain, helm jerking to the side from my hit. Only then did I realize I'd smacked him right on an acid burn. However, even still, the only thought that came to me was that I'd touched an _acid burn_, which could very well have enough residue left to corrode my finish.

"-Ack! Primus-forbid—" I spat a gurgle of disgust, and hurried to wipe my hand on the only clean part I could find on his frame. "_Why_ is every part of you hazardous and repulsive?!" I rubbed my hand on his plating until I was sure my polish was not fading away. Pleased, I looked up from inspecting my hand, and finally noticed just how _quiet_ the cave had become.

Megatron was completely still.

Not even his cooling fans hummed, despite the unbearable heat.

His right arm was still raised, pointing the fusion cannon at the Prime. However, it was no longer strumming with pending discharge. He had disabled it, and I frowned, confused as to why he would do such a thing when the enemy leader was right before him, waiting for deactivation.

The ex-gladiator stayed motionless, silent, as though my slap had somehow stalled his processors. Bewildered, I peered at his faceplate, and gave his chassis a tentative nudge.

"…Megatron?" I called, to no response. I leaned to the side, to catch more of his expression, and spotted something I did not expect to see.

Lying by Megatron's peds was a pick-axe, still activated, blades glowing in the darkness barely lifted by the small lanterns brought in by the Decepticons. Megatron had once made mentions about having a pick-axe, back when he was still a miner. I remembered that speech, but I did not think my lord sentimental enough for memorials, though I've obviously just been proven wrong.

Wait a breem…

My spark lurched inside my spark chamber.

Why was Megatron's pick-axe lying on the ground next to him? And, most importantly, why was it activated?

Everything clicked together in one split moment.

His lack of a helmet, the presence of his digging equipment…

My optics widened. I looked up, gaping at him in surprise.

He…couldn't have possibly…

…_dug me out_ _himself_…?

I expected a rescue team, yes, but to actually lead the unit, to personally pry and break through the rubble, that was…a shock. A complete shock.

Warmth spread, fluttering inside my spark. I looked up at my commander, lips parting, and felt a trickle of intake catch, heat gathering in my cheekplates.

Megatron hasn't moved. His faceplate was overcast in shadow. Overcome by the desire to see his optics, I lifted a hand, fingertips brushing against his jaw.

His reaction was immediate.

He snapped toward me with a guttural snarl, and shoved me off from his frame.

I stumbled, tripping on the debris. He followed, a hand raised in the air.

He struck me down, the sound of impact ringing inside the small cave. My faceplate exploded in pain, and I cried out, landing sprawled on the ground.

"You ungrateful retch!" He bellowed, and one of his peds came hurtling toward my torso. With a sickening crack, his shattered my cockpit, rendering a shrill, piercing shriek from my lips.

I shielded my broken canopy with my arms, strangled whimpers of agony choking past my lips. I tried to curl up in case he decided to kick me again, but instead, he reached down, and clenched around my left wing tip. The searing burn was instant. He yanked me up by my wounded wing alone. I screeched, a hand springing back in attempts to clutch the ruthless grip crumbling my thin, light plating.

My entire frame rattled. I could barely stay on my peds. There was shouting. I recognized Optimus Prime yelling at someone to stop. However, I could not pay them any attention aside from a fleeting thought. All I knew was that Megatron was even more fragged off than when I first awoke, and that was all because of me

The ex-gladiator let go of my crushed wing tip as soon as I managed to stay upright on my peds.

"Repulsive, Starscream?" He grabbed my neck cables. "Brutish? _Filthy_?"

"No! _No_! P-Please, my lord! I—I didn't mean—" I tried to explain, but he wasn't interested in listening to me. He clutched the back of my helm, and slammed me into the wall, a livid roar tearing from his vocalizer. I screamed, more out of fear than actual pain as I was rammed against the rock face. There was a colliding crunch, and energon wash down the side of my faceplate, dripping from my chin.

Warm.

"Megatron! Stop this madness!" Optimus Prime cried out, voice laced with horror. "He's your second-in-command!"

Megatron paid him no mind, grinding my helm against the wall. I let out a shuddering moan, frame trembling as my lord stepped closer from behind, and pinned me down with his weight, chassis flush against the back of my wings.

"All you have said may be true, my dear _Second_," He snarled into my right audial, voice a harsh rasp, "But you are wrong on _one_ account." He pressed closer, and I whimpered, spark stirring in a burst of heat.

His other hand trailed down along my frame. It tightened around my hip.

"You," He hissed, "_Are_," His dentae gritted, "Mine."

Megatron pulled away.

With an abrupt shove against the wall, he was gone. I almost let out a saddened moan at the loss of his heat, so close against me. He grabbed me by the back of my neck, and yanked me after him, pausing only to pick up his pick-axe. He deactivated its blades as he walked, and returned it to his subspace.

He strode toward the tunnel he'd dug into the cave, not sparing a single word to Optimus or the remaining Decepticons. I stumbled on my thruster heels, and grabbed onto the hand holding me captive. I begged, imploring for mercy that he did not possess. Pleas left my lips without filter. I could only whimper as he dragged me out of the collapsed mine.

"Star!" A familiar voice reached my audials.

I turned my helm as well as I could in its direction. Within kliks, I saw Thundercracker and Skywarp rushing toward me. Before they could reach my side, however, they startled to a stop, freezing mid-run as they cast frightened glances at Megatron.

"I will personally deliver your Crown Prince to the med bay." Megatron spoke above me, voice a flat, simmering growl. "You have patrol duties. Report all spotted Autobots to Soundwave."

My trine mates exchanged a look, and peeked at me with furrowed brow ridges. When they failed to respond to a direct order from our commander, Megatron became irritated, tone dropping to a snarling threat:

"That was not a request, Seekers."

"Uhh—…_Right_! I-I mean: _Yes_, Lord Megatron! Right away!" Skywarp jerked a stiff salute, and grabbed at Thundercracker's hand to tug him away. However, my blue trine mate was not as easily intimidated or fooled by Megatron's pretentious goodwill. He dodged Skywarp's attempts at catching his arm, and parted his lips to protest.

"_Thundercracker_," Megatron cut in before he could speak, optics narrowed, voice deepening to a dark, gravelly growl, "I would _hate_ to have to repeat myself." The fusion cannon activated with a rising whirr. The barrel happened to be right over my helm, and I spluttered in fear, struggling against the ex-gladiator's grip.

Thundercracker stiffened. His faceplate grew pale as energon drained from his faceplate.

"Of-Of course, my lord. We are on our way." He stuttered, and allowed himself to be dragged away by Skywarp. I gazed longingly after them, wishing more than anything that I was flying away with them at the moment.

A warning clench around my neck broke me out of my thoughts. I let out a whine, the sound meek and soft, and hung down my helm in submission.

I could feel Megatron staring down at me, and my wings began to shake. My thighs trembled, and they almost caved under my weight, but I did not dare become any more of a nuisance to my captor, lest he actually did decide to blast my helm off.

A few moments passed. He huffed a grunt, and resumed his strides with a yank at my neck cables. I tried to follow as well as I could, bent over and tripping over the rubble. I fought to ignore how humiliating this was, being paraded around like this in front of the other Decepticons. As far as I was concerned, I was still Megatron's second-in-command, so to the pits with what anyone else thought.

To my surprise, Megatron did lead me to a med bay. It was already bustling with medics and patients, the screech of saws slicing through armor interrupting long moans of pain. As soon as the doors slid closed after Megatron and I, the noise died. I peeked up, and saw that every mech in the chamber froze, gaping at us with blatant shock.

"Open one of the private rooms." Megatron instructed. "If they are all full, kick someone out. I have _business_ to tend to with my second-in-command." There was a scowl in his voice, and the onlookers glanced away, some dipping their helms.

A medic came forward. It was Hook.

"There is one room available, Lord Megatron." He bowed his helm as he answered. I could tell he was straining to keep our commander's gaze. "Please follow me." He gestured to the side, and started to guide the way.

Megatron followed, with a curt tug at my neck. I swallowed, wings shivering as I followed with little more than a whimper. In my spark, I had a nagging itch that Megatron did not bring me here to get repaired. The closer we got to the door, the more dread I felt, until I was clutching the hand unrelentingly tight around my neck, digging my thrusters against the floor.

A warning shove dispelled all thought of squirming my way out. I shook harder, and bit my quivering lips, watching with rabid terror as Hook opened the door, and led us through.

The lights flashed on, filling the room with piercing brightness. It was a typical private chamber, furnished with a berth, various monitors, and a wide array of equipment. Megatron yanked me forward, and threw me toward the berth. I fell against it, abdominal plating hitting the edge of the furniture with a dull clang.

I did not make a sound even when the impact stung. I only glanced back at Megatron, and pleaded with my optics, wings stretched flat and low on my back.

"Get on the berth." He ordered, a sneer on his lips.

I trembled harder, and peered at him with wide optics.

"…You will _not_ like me doing that _for_ you, Starscream." His glare narrowed. His fists clenched.

I let out a tiny squeak, and scrambled onto the berth, kneeling with my hands spread to prop my torso.

"Lie down." He commanded. "On your front."

I complied, wincing as my broken canopy rubbed against the berth's surface. Despite my discomfort, however, I did not complain, adamant to insist on the small sliver of hope that, if I did as I was told, I would be spared from whatever punishment my lord was brewing in his processors.

Megatron only made a quiet grunt when he noticed my passive behaviour, and turned to Hook.

"Bring me Longhaul and Bonecrusher." He told the Constructicon. "And no matter what you may hear from this room, do _not_ disturb me, understood?" The malice simmering in Megatron's voice jolted a whimper of fear from my lips. He definitely did not bring me here for repairs.

I tilted toward Hook, and implored him with my optics, a pathetic whine trickling from my lips in desperation to garner some pity so that the medic would dissuade the ex-gladiator. Unfortunately, I forgot that Hook had no wishes to die in the near future. He gave no indication that he'd heard me at all, and did not spare me even a single glance.

He only nodded, and bowed, before leaving the room.

The door slid closed. A few kliks later, it opened again, admitting two large ground pounders. To my utter dismay, they both wore visors, just like their medic Gestalt member. I wanted to bury my faceplate into my arms, but I was too horrified to look away.

Whatever Megatron had planned for me, I knew it wouldn't help my aversion toward visors.

The door closed once again, sealing my fate. My wings trembled worse. A wavering keen wobbled from my vocalizer, and I started plead, making my last effort at lessening my punishment.

"P-Please, my lord," I looked at Megatron, "…I—I'm really s-sorry…!" My entire frame was shaking, spark shrinking into a tiny speckle of shivering terror. "I—I didn't mean to—…I didn't mean to attack you! It was a mistake. A stupid mistake." I begged. "I am a fool, just like you said, s-so please—," My hand inched toward him, "…please don't—…d-don't hurt me…!" Coolant welled under my optics. "I learnt my lesson. I _swear_ I'll never do something so foolish again, so p-please…_Please_! F-Forgive me—!"

Megatron ignored my words, and turned to address the two Constructicons.

"Activate the surgical lights. Turn off the rest." He said, optics dimming to a steely, determined glint as he gazed down at me, studying me as though a precious specimen. "Once you are done," His lips curled, "_hold him down_."

The general lighting system spluttered out. A ring of light washed down over me. It was too bright. Too cold. It reminded me of the cycle Pristinus hovered above me, nurses bustling in the shadows. He'd wrapped a gentle hand around the side of my faceplate, wings shivering beneath the penetrating glow of surgical lamps.

"_It will be alright, your Highness._" He'd whispered, a wavering smile below knitted brows. "_You're safe now. You are still our Crown._" His jaws clenched.

"_No one can harm you here._"

I clutched the berth.

My ventilation sped.

The room shrank around me, curtained in darkness.

Two visors floated out of the shadows. I gaped at them, intakes hitching in bursts. My wings plastered down against my back. They shook, clattering against my plating. The visors were coming closer. A thin wheeze ripped from my vocalizer.

"N—No…" I curled, optics stretching wide. "No…! Stay away!" Panic started to boil. My digits inched toward the only one who made me feel safe in the chamber.

Megatron stepped back. Shadow swallowed him from my vision.

Terror slammed a quake through my systems.

With a wailing screech, I shoved from the berth, scrambling on my limbs. Processors overtaken by terror, I tried to fly, but my only thruster did not splutter into activation fast enough.

"Hold him down!"

Megatron's voice bellowed through my haze of hysteria. Hands descended, clamping down around my wrists and ankles.

They pinned me to the berth.

I screamed, thrashing and kicking and bucking.

"Megatron! _Megatron_!" I shrieked, calling for him.

The hands did not give, but another came down from above, and pushed me against the berth.

My cracked cockpit ground against the surface. Pain sliced hot across my sensory grid, and I jerked, a whimper bleeding past bitten lips. I fought to keep back the prickling coolant on the edges of my vision, and tried to stop the trembling of my frame.

"Stay. Still." A whisper hissed into my left audial.

I offlined my optics, joints stiffening. To my surprise, the heavy fog of fear began to dissipate, little by little, clearing my mind. The hand on my back was strong, much stronger than the ones holding me down. It was warm, flush against the joints of my wings, and I spluttered a sigh, arching my back, trying to lean into the unforgiving, but comforting touch.

_Megatron_.

He was with me.

He would not allow anyone else to hurt me.

He would never stand another's touch to taint what was his.

His fingers were rough against my derma, growing hot. I let out a soft moan.

He stroked the seams of my wings, kneading the rigid cables, and I squirmed under his hold, uttering a weak, pleading ventilation.

"…M—My lord…" I whispered.

I did not understand what I was yearning for, but it did not matter, because he did not acknowledge me. He had no reason to follow any whim but his own.

His hand left my back, despite my whimpered protest. He spoke over me, addressing whichever Constructicon gripping down my wrists.

"Which one is a welding torch for precise repairs?" He asked.

My wings twitched.

"Third row down, second from the left," The Constructicon answered. I tilted my helm, and watched with wide, wary optics as Megatron took the medical tool down from its perch.

He looked over the small instrument, and pressed a button on its side. It activated with a sputter, a thin beam of blue flame erupting from its tip.

My intakes stalled. My lips fell apart.

I could not speak, staring at the torch with dawning dread.

I had no idea what my lord had planned, but it was apparent that it would be gruesome. Megatron moved it closer, and it vanished from my sight, blocked by my wings. I offlined my optics, joints yanking my limbs to curl into ball. His hand returned to my back, but this time, I whimpered, tendrils of terror as though the melting of ice inside my spark.

I could hear the torch, hissing from right above me.

I could not see it, and that made everything worse in spades.

"You always forget," Megatron stated, "what I have repeatedly made clear to you, Starscream." The way he snarled my name, twisting it with his glossa, roused a shiver down my spinal strut. The tips of his digits dipped into the seam of my right wing joint, and I whimpered, a surge of heat shooting through my sensory lines.

"You are mine." He told me, voice a low growl. "To ensure you will never overlook that fact again, I will give you a permanent reminder, my Second."

My brow ridges furrowed.

What did he mean by—

A cry burst through my thoughts.

Pain.

Scalding pain that melted my derma, carved into my plating.

The scorching blade of the torch bit into my left wing, boiling blisters, bursting sensors.

I saw static.

An audial-splitting scream tore through my vocalizer. It echoed in the room, filling the air with the screeching of words and engine.

Agony seared through my neural network. I shrieked louder, bucking to dart away. Hands held me down. I could not move. I could only endure the torture, the cruelty, of a thin beam of flame gouging into my limb.

The torch sliced through my plating, and burned straight through the intertwining cables. Thin fuel lines burst and sizzled. Neural clusters popped. Through the cascade of warnings and shrieking feedback, I could tell Megatron was tracing a pattern. It took me an eternity of excruciating torment to realize that he was welding the Decepticon insignia straight into my wing.

The metal of my appendage groaned and caved under the heat. Internal components stuck together, forming scorching hot scars. I bit down hard on my dentae, and screamed into the berth, vents blasting spurts of air. Coolant splattered from my optics. The agony was endless. Even when the torch moved on to the next line, the mess it left behind only stung worse, wound cooling and swelling in surges of blinding agony.

Megatron did not speak. Neither did I.

I did not beg. All I could do was clenching my jaws as he worked. Coolant budded and fell from my optics. My intakes hitched in sharp, pain-filled gasps.

An eternity must have passed. My sensory network had plunged into an ocean of hurt by the time he finally finished with my left wing. He leaned away, as though to admire his work. When he hummed in approval, and moved to my right wing, I couldn't stand it anymore, a spasm convulsing through my frame.

I broke down, strangled sobs bursting from my vocalizer. My frame shook, and I buried my faceplate against the berth, muffling the shuddering of my breaths.

The torch hovered, just out of range of my right wing. Megatron paused. He did not move. I continued to cry, vents stuttering as my systems stalled from the onslaught of agony. The pain was taxing, and coughs choked my intakes, heaving my chassis while tears splattered onto the berth before my face.

I'd lost something then, though I couldn't make sense of what it was. My mind was devoid of coherency. All I knew was the clawing stab of lingering flame on my left wing, and the deep-rooted throb swelling from my spark chamber. Megatron shifted. His digits wrapped around the back of my neck, and gave it a gentle squeeze. That was the only reprieve of comfort he allowed. He moved to my right wing, digits clenching down on its leading edge, and a shrill whine blurted past my lips, as I knew exactly the magnitude of his incoming punishment.

The torch bit into my delicate appendage. I cried out, in a high-pitched wail. Bracing for contact as I was, nothing could have ever prepared me for such pain.

I wept harder, staining the berth with my tears.

Megatron worked, silent, focused. As with everything he did, he never even once gave more than what was necessary. He was not cruel. He never strayed from the Decepticon symbol out of sadistic delight. The burn was almost too much, straining against what I could take. I hovered at the peak, but I did not plunge into emergency stasis, did not spare myself the torment of undergoing the excruciating scald.

I cried. I sobbed. I wept. I wailed.

I screamed, and strained so hard against my restraints that dents formed on my limbs.

However, never once did I plead him to stop. Never once did I beg.

Because the pain.

The hurt.

Was _him_.

The torture.

The melt of fire into the most tender of my wirings, marking the summation of all I was.

My wings.

My Crown.

My Vos.

To beg would shatter the moment. Taint his intent. Belittle his purpose.

Claim all I was, and I would never plead that he _stopped_.

The welding torch lifted away. He'd finished. The work was complete. I collapsed onto the berth, breaths short and shaky, vocalizer scratched with static and sobs. He sent the Constructicons away with a few words, and the hands holding me down disappeared. Pedfalls retreated. The door slid open and closed. Even though I was no longer pinned down, I did not move. I remained where I was, faceplate down on the medical berth, swallowing whimpers as the blistering wash of pain continued to pulse.

Silence hung around us, disrupted only by my wavering cries. I knew Megatron was still inside the room, and that he was watching me, but I couldn't lift my helm to meet his gaze. At last, he strode closer, and placed a hand on my back. The touch burned worse than all of my injuries combined, and I crumbled, spark a shivering clench as I started to bawl.

Coolant streamed from my optics. I cupped my hands around my faceplate to hide them. I tried curling into a ball, tugging my knees toward my chassis, but he did not let me, scooping me up from the berth.

Strong arms wrapped around my torso. They lifted me upright.

I protested with a wail, and yanked my face away from his view.

I was ashamed. I did not want him to see me.

I did not deserve him. I _knew_.

He wanted to give me so much.

He wanted so much from me.

The throb in my spark trembled worse.

He was to never find out just how much of a wreck I was, how bare I'd become before him, how far I'd allowed him in, and how deeply I'd felt for him.

Megatron enveloped my frame with his arms. He held me close against his chassis, until his warmth bled through my armor. His lips brushed against the side of my helm, and he spoke to me, voice rasped and harsh still.

"You are mine, Starstream," He whispered, the dark timber soft for such domineering words. "You belong to me, and I intend to keep you." His fingertips brushed the seams on my back, and I shivered. "No one else in existence will ever lay their hands on you." He promised me, grip tightening. "I want you. The entire, _you_." His intakes heaved. "And I will never relinquish any sliver of my claim." He tilted his helm, touching his cheekplate against mine.

"You will suffer my touch alone, Starscream." His murmur trickled to a mere breath of syllables, lips brushing against my derma.

"Alone," He said, "you will have _me_."

Coolant spilled from the rim of my sockets.

Air trapped between our frames, and they tasted hot when my intakes hitched, broken canopy pressing against his chassis.

"Well, then…" My lips quivered into a smirk. "What are you waiting for, my lord?" I whispered through my tears, and leaned against him.

"_Touch me_…" I ex-vented, optics flickering offline, hands latching onto his shoulders. "…as you have always wanted…" I moaned into his audial, the liquid staining my cheeks smearing on his.

Megatron did not move at first, as though relishing the simmer of my words. Slowly, one of his hands trailed down. It slid past my hips, fingertips catching and digging into every seam and curve. He wrapped his grip around the perk of my aft, pausing for a split klik before venturing further. His digits dipped into the crevice between my thighs, and gave my valve panel a rub, jolting a gasp from my intakes as my back curved into a graceful arch.

I embraced him, and placed my helm down on his shoulder. Even the fiery agony of my injuries could not stop the tingling of pleasure from spreading through my frame, gathering deep in my core into a potent throb of arousal. Megatron's movement was slow, languid, a stark contrast to that of our previous coupling. I wondered what had changed, but with his fingers massaging the seams of my valve panel, my thoughts dissipated, a soft keen on my lips.

My port cover retracted with a small snap. Megatron paused, just to tease, and I squirmed, clutching him tighter with an impatient whine. He chuckled, and brushed his lips against my cheekplate. A digit slipped between the soft, yielding folds of my valve, and my intakes gasped, a tremor of delight quivering from my body.

He traced the outer nodes of my valve. I shivered, heat prickling across my sensory grid. My equipment grew moist, and lubricant began to gather, coating the slit between my folds. He dipped a finger inside me, just slightly, and swirled around, the motion slippery and hot. My thighs shook, and I let out a shuddering moan, urging him to penetrate deeper with a grind down of my hips.

He obliged, pushing his finger deeper into me. My joints tensed, and I whimpered, neck cables pulling my helm from his shoulder. Our cheek plates brushed against each other, and I whispered a plea into his audial. He hummed, and started to knead, pacing languid as he thrust his finger in and out of my valve.

A charge built inside my core, coiling thick, swelling strong. It was different than the usual, desperate desire, and it was refreshing, if not exquisite. I moved in time to his tempo, jolting with a moan when he added another finger. The two digits spread the tight lining of my port, and lubricant oozed out, staining the inner sides of my thighs.

The gesture was degrading, shameful, humiliating.

My smiled, with an eager groan.

I _loved_ it.

Megatron rubbed the inside of my valve, pressing against the responsive sensors. My cooling fans hummed online, and my internal temperature climbed higher with every slid of wet friction. He added a third finger, and plunged them into my port in long, firm strokes. I met his pace with equal fervor, hands clasped around his shoulders as strangled noises of encouragement blurted past my vocalizer.

Oh yes…this felt good.

I bit my downer lip component, and buried my helm against his neck cables. The rising pleasure, interlaced with pinpricks of pain, made my neural clusters tingle with sensitivity. Before long, I was a writhing pool of bliss with a pair of shivering wings. I wondered, briefly, if he would claim my everything this cycle, and found that I did not mind. _I_ never would have minded. The consequences no longer felt relevant to my person. In that moment, I _wanted_ him to do it. I wanted to feel his spike inside me, sheathed to the hilt, pressed snug against the deepest node of my frame while I sing his designation to the stars.

I was too far gone, too overwhelmed, to care what I was admitting to myself.

Megatron sped up. His fingers were slick against the trembling wall of my port. I clenched and squeezed around his rough digits, trying to draw them in as much as possible, whimpering pleas. I did not know what words were leaving my lips, not that he seemed to care. The wild flares of my energy field and the fervent motions of my hips were enough to tell him exactly what I wanted, what I needed, and he complied in kind, quickening his thrusts.

I started to squirm, spasms jerking through my frame. My fingers clenched around his plating, and I gritted my dentae, cries muffled against his shoulder. I pinched my optic shutters, and pressed my frame as close to his as I could. My intakes hitched. My vents sputtered. Coolant raced through my systems, but it made little difference to the soaring heat smoldering hotter as I raced toward the inevitable peak with utter abandon.

Nothing in the universe could stop that glorious moment of searing pleasure from bursting from my core. A choked scream blurted past my lips, and I dipped my helm, burying my faceplate tighter against his armor. Since his first intimate touch this cycle, I haven't made a single loud noise, despite my usual enthusiasm in straining my vocalizer during moments of passion. I tried my best to keep quiet this time, and Megatron did not seem to mind. He enjoyed my tiny, desperate mews just as much as my piercing shrieks, and his arm, around my waist, tightened still, fingers moving faster, plunging even deeper inside me.

It was coming, that perfect moment of ecstasy that would surge through my fuel lines, scorch my neural network, and shatter into armor-rattling heat inside my spark. My cooling fans whirred. My intakes stalled. I grabbed onto my lord's shoulders, lips parted as broken, fragmented pleas stuttered from my vocalizer.

Oh yes…

Yes!

This felt so good, so _good_, and I wanted more.

The coarse, hard derma of his fingers dug against the sensitized lining of my valve, stimulating all the sensors. I let out a high-pitched whine, clenching around his digits so that he could knead every node, touch every part of me. It was getting closer, that magnificent split in time of blinding light and colours. My frame began convulse. My optics onlined with a flash. Oh Primus…Oh Primus—!

My body seized. A bitten back wail sang from my vocalizer.

My valve squeezed, and lubricant spurted, washing over his fingers, splattering all over my thighs.

Some of it trickled down onto the berth, forming a small puddle. My cheek plates grew hot. I turned my faceplate to hide, and buried my helm against his neck cables.

He did not allow it.

His other hand rose, and pulled my helm out of its hiding place. My optics flickered on, but I couldn't look back at him, averting my gaze. He was studying my expression. I saw on my peripheral. His fingers continued to rub the inner wall of my valve, and I ground out a whine, clenching in a string of spasms.

He watched me.

Then, he leaned forward.

My fuel pump skipped a thud.

Megatron kissed me.

My breath caught. My spark pulsed.

His mouth was hot. His glossa kneaded against mine, the same moment his hand trailed down and wrapped around my neck, thumb brushing against my jaw. I moaned, tilting my helm, and offlined my optics. I could feel his ventilation, hot and dry against my broken canopy, stirring waves of prickling on the edge of my sensory field.

We remained like this, intertwined, with me kneeling on the medical berth, and him holding me against him. Our pace was slow. We had all the time we needed. For that one moment, there was no duty, no Crown, no Vos. I merely soaked in his presence, and allowed him to handle me however he liked, as long as it pleased him, because such would please _me_.

A selfish thought.

One ungoverned by responsibility to my people.

A long while ticked by.

Megatron held me, silent, still.

With a soft ex-vent, he drew back, and slid his fingers out of my valve. My hips trembled, and I whimpered at the loss, though I did not protest.

He set me back onto the berth. To my confusion, he laid me out on my front, and simply left me there. I allowed him to place me, but gave him a bewildered look, peering at his faceplate as I wondered about his motive.

"…What are you doing?" I asked when he did not explain. "Don't you…need to—…" I glanced at his crotch plate, and he actually grimaced.

"You are in no condition to service me, Starscream." He answered, and tried to feign indifference. However, the way his optics glowed and glided over my frame was more than enough to tell me that there was nothing more he wanted to do than to spread my thighs and ram his spike deep inside my valve.

I huffed, indignant.

"I'm not _that_ incompetent, Megatron." I retorted, despite the ache in my joints and the fatigue hovering at the edge of my awareness. "I can handle an interface." To back up my claim, I parted my knees, and gave him an unhindered view of my bared valve and the sticky mess he'd left behind.

He froze, optics flashing into a piercing shine. He was faltering, fists clenching tighter as he bit his jaws. A smirk stretched over my features, and I leaned back, to put on an even naughtier display of myself. However, the movement jostled my wings, and a toppling wave of pain punched me straight in the gut.

I hissed, expression pinching into a frown.

Megatron paused. His gaze flickered, and he snapped out of his stupor, brow ridges furrowing.

"You need to see a medic." He stated.

Right away, I knew there was no chance talking him out of it.

"_And_, pray tell, whose fault is _that_, oh wise leader?" Ire flared, and I snapped, blasting an ex-vent as I sent him a glare. "Thanks to your spontaneous bout of artful creativity, I might not be able to fly for cycles!"

He stared at me, the knitted creases between his brows spreading flat.

Without another word, he turned around, and strode toward the door.

What in the—

I perked up a little, and gaped.

Was he just going to—

"Wh-Where are you going?!" I shouted after him, scrambling to push upright on the berth. "You can't just _leave_ me here! What in the pits do you suppose I do? Walk out the door through the med bay looking like _this_?! Who _knows_ how many mechs are out there? Someone will take _pictures_ to blackmail me and Hook will just laugh!"

There was no response.

The slagger was _ignoring_ me!

An intake puffed my chassis.

"Megatron!" I shrieked.

"I am _contacting_ your _trine mates_." Megatron glanced over his shoulder, a scowl on his faceplate as he stopped before the door. "They will arrive to retrieve you shortly." He looked at me. His lips pursed with a roaring grind of intake.

"…Return to Vos, Starscream." He sighed, "Go straight to your Head Medic." He turned away, the curl of his lips the last glimpse I caught. "I want you back to full function as soon as possible." He reached for the keypad on the wall:

"There are matters to discuss between us."

With a tap, the door slid open. He walked through, and left me alone in the medical chamber, under the cold light of the surgical lamps.

Scrunching my nose-bridge, I muttered in curses, and wiggled on the berth. I lied down on my side, mindful of my broken canopy, and tucked up my knees. With Megatron gone, I no longer had to pretend I was alright. In truth, I was exhausted, so I offlined my optics, and decided to rest while I waited for my trine mates' arrival.

I did not have to wait for long. A few breems later, the door slid open. However, before I could online my optics and yell at my trine mates for running away instead of protecting me from Megatron's wrath, there was a loud, hitched gasp, and Thundercracker's voice rang out, an exclamation loud and uncharacteristically high.

"Oh Primus!" He cried out as though he was half way to deactivation from dismay. "Starscream! Oh Primus! _Starscream_!" He sounded like I'd been brutally slaughtered and he was here to pick up the pieces.

I frowned, vision flickering on, and peered toward the door. Skywarp and Thundercracker were standing at the threshold, optics agape. My blue trine mate looked like he was about to burst into tears, and my frown deepened.

What the frag?

"Are you planning on standing there like idiots and giving the whole med bay a view of my disgrace?" I sneered, and tried not to squirm under their staring. I was covered in all manners of filth, and I'd rather the grounders not see me so hideous.

For a long while, neither of them moved. My wings twitched on my back. Just as I riled to give them a verbal lashing, Skywarp snapped out of his stupor with a jerk of his helm, and shoved Thundercracker through. The door slid closed behind them, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I was in no desire to entertain an audience beyond my trine mates. After all, I was littered with injuries, and the sticky mess under me was starting to seep through my-

—_Wait_.

I froze.

The haze of exhaustion in my mind cleared to crystal.

My trine mates had walked through the door, and caught me sprawled on the berth, wounded with mangled wings. With the way I curled my legs, they would've had a perfect view of my thighs, stained with cooling lubricant. I still haven't closed my valve panel, a detail I'd overlooked due to my post-overload daze.

_Primus_…

Did they think that I was—

One look into Thundercracker's tearful optics told me that was _exactly_ what they thought.

"Oh Star…I—I'm so sorry…!" My blue trine mate stuttered forward, shaky, as though he could break with every step he took. "I-It's okay. Everything's okay now. Don't worry. 'Warp and I are going to protect you. Nothing's going to hurt you anymore. I promise."

I set my gaze to Skywarp, wondering if he was any less assuming. Judging from the expression on his faceplate, however, he was obviously thinking the same.

"Megatron did not violate me." I blurted, and ignored the simultaneous flinching from my trine mates. "He punished me, yes, but he did not force me." I closed my valve panel, and pushed into a sitting position. "His punishment was adequate for what I did. It was my fault."

"Is that what _he_ told you?" Skywarp hissed, dentae gritted and tight fists trembling. "That it's _your_ fault and you _deserve_ this?"

My brow ridges knitted. What in the pits was he going on about?

"I _told_ you, he did not violate me." I sneered, annoyed that they would not believe me. "I don't know if your audials have glitched or some other malfunction, but I have clearly articulated that this _was_ my fault, and while I am not particularly fond of Megatron's methods, I _did_ deserve the punishment."

"Oh _Primus_—" Large droplets of coolant spilled over Thundercracker's optics. He covered his lips with a hand, and watched me with such an overabundance of pity that I grimaced in disgust.

I was _not_ a victim.

The Crown Prince of Vos would never be victim to anyone.

However, before I could tell him so, Skywarp spoke up.

"Is that what he told you too?" The teleporter snarled. "Is that what he said as he shoved you down and had his way with you?"

Irritation swelled.

They were not _listening_ to me!

"Oh, for Primus's sakes!" My wings bristled. "Are you hearing what I'm telling you?! I _said_—"

"-You don't have to justify his actions to hide your pain, Star." Thundercracker wiped his tears away, and gave me a wavering smile. "We're here for you, no matter what happens."

My lips fell open.

I stared.

"TC and I will never let him touch you again." Skywarp seconded. "We'll protect you, no matter what." He promised me, a rare glint of seriousness bright in his optics.

I could not decide whether to laugh or toss the nearest object at their helms.

In the end, I settled for a tightlipped sigh.

"_I said_—" I began.

"It's okay, Star." Thundercracker interrupted. "You don't have to say anything until you're ready." He reached toward me, optics wet still, expression warm. "But know that 'Warp and I will always be here to listen, okay? Just—Just let us take care of you."

"Yeah, we'll always have your back, Star." Skywarp walked forward, gaze hard and focused. "So don't you worry," His jaws clenched. "He'll never touch you again. I _swear_ he'll never touch you again. The things I'm gonna slagging do to 'im—"

"-I slapped him." I cut in.

My trine mates froze. Several kliks ticked by, and they gaped at me, as though doubting their auditory receptors.

"I slapped him, right in the faceplate." I repeated. "In front of the Decepticons, and the Autobots." I paused. "_And_ Optimus Prime." I added.

My trine mates were speechless.

They stared at me, and I could practically see their processors clicking to compute what I'd just said.

Skywarp was the first to shake himself out of his stupor, optics stretching even wide.

"_What?!_ Are you fraggin' serious?!" He exclaimed, caught between incredulous laughter and splutters of shock. "…You slapped _Megatron_?!"

"Yes." I puffed up my chassis, and perked my wings, regardless of how much the gesture hurt. "Yes, I did."

Skywarp rebooted his optics, and gave his helm a shake. He let out a bark of a laugh, and gaped at me in amazement.

"Were you out of your fragging—" He started, but Thundercracker cut him off.

"That's still no reason for him to punish Star!" My blue trine mate shouted, swirling to glare at the teleporter. "Nothing justifies violation of such caliber!"

I heaved a sigh, and pinched between my optics.

"I _told_ you, he did not violate me!" I yelled in return, accentuating my statement with a punch against the medical berth. "Yes, he did punish me, but he did not do it to torture me into submission so he can force his way with me." I peered into Thundercracker's optics. "Yes, he did touch me," My brows furrowed, "but I _let_ him, alright? I _let_ him!"

Thundercracker jolted back. His lips fell apart in shock. His silence grated my nerves, and words spewed out of my mouth, unfiltered and stuttering.

"I don't know why I keep doing stupid things to frag him off. I don't know why I keep letting him touch me. And I certainly don't know why I enjoy his attention so much, _or_ what my motivations are. But for some sick, twisted reason unbeknownst to myself—…I-I _like_ it when he hurts me. I _like_ it when he handles me with the intention to tear and maim. Is that what you wanted to hear, Thundercracker? Is that the confession you wanted?!"

My voice rang inside the room.

Thundercracker stared at me, still and stunned.

Skywarp shuffled on his peds, and tossed him worried glances.

"…I…" My fuel pump pounded inside my audials, "…I don't know how you're—…how you're still unaware of this." My voice dropped. "I've never…told you because I…I didn't—…I just didn't want to acknowledge it." I bowed my helm, optics flickering down. "But looking back…it's pretty obvious, isn't it?" I bit my lips, fingers curling into my palms.

"…Megatron never spiked me though," I grumbled, "so if you're worrying about that…I'm still intact."

An awkward, tense silence weighed in the air after I finished, and I wallowed, picking at the seams of the berth.

Thundercracker kept watching me. He did not reply, and his gaze felt blazing hot against my plating, expression laden with hurt on my peripheral. He remained silent, and I was too much of a coward to look back at him. The air choked. Skywarp cleared his vocalizer, and stepped forward.

"C'mon, Star. Let's get you to Pri." He offered me an arm.

I stared before reaching toward it with an ex-vent, and allowed him to guide me down the berth. He turned to Thundercracker, and offered his other arm. We watched our blue trine mate, him expectant, I wary. Thundercracker seemed to be deep in thought, but, a few kliks later, he nodded, and grabbed onto Skywarp.

Our surroundings blackened. When light emerged once more, we were back in my tower, inside the med bay. Pristinus looked up from his datapad, and gave the three of us a lengthy study. His optics lingered on me, and he frowned, putting his datapad down before standing from his chair.

He watched me, but he did not ask any questions. He prompted me to sit on one of the medical berths, and I let go of Skywarp to follow my medic's instructions. The Stealth Jet glanced between the three of us, pursing his lips, but he did not utter a word. He started running scans over my frame. I answered when he inquired about my wounds. He never made any comments about the lubricant still staining my thighs, and only explained to me that the weld marks on my wings would take three cycles to heal, even with replacement parts.

My medic worried my wings would scar. I murmured that I did not care as long as it didn't interfere with my flying. He reassured me that I would be able to reach top speed without trouble, only expressing concern that the scars might be sensitive. I shrugged. I couldn't find enough care in my spark to give a scrap at the moment. Pristinus nodded, and patted me on the back before asking me to lie down on my chassis.

My trine mates stayed exactly where they were upon arrival in the med bay. Only Skywarp shifted on his peds, turning to peek at what Pristinus was doing. Thundercracker remained silent and motionless, helm slightly lowered. His expression was shrouded. He never once gave indication that he knew I was looking at him.

After a while, Skywarp sighed, and grabbed Thundercracker by the arm. He tossed me a worried look, and teleported both of them away. Silence settled after their departure, broken only by the tinkering of medical tools. Pristinus placed a hand on my back, and informed me that he would have to place me under stasis for the repairs.

With a soft ex-vent, I nodded, and relaxed into the berth.

Though I did not understand Thundercracker's behaviour, I would patch things up with him. Somehow. He was my Royal Wing Right. He was important to me, especially now that I no longer knew what was going to happen with Megatron.

Black began to seep from the edges of my consciousness.

I offlined my optics.

For now, I would rest, and hope that, by the time I woke up, things would be better.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes:<strong> At last. After three months.

I'm so sorry. X'D I honestly have no excuse. It's just been taking me longer and longer to edit these chapters. Hopefully, the length makes up for the wait.

Huge special thanks once again to my most beloved reviewers, who have been most kind in leaving me sweet messages and compliments, especially in regards to a sudden boost of review numbers in the past few months. Don't mind the silly~ You're all too awesome and your time too important to spare for the silly. ;)

To _Guest_, _Ashcola17, Borath, Enlyien, prismadecepticons, tiedwithribbons, eadspud, Kerro-chan, TammyCat, starscream fan, Koluno1986, estella-clamatis, MalevolentMask, Zelach, nameanon, Rosedrop13, Odd Writer, silverflame, Eiswolf-Zero, ladyredvelvet, Guest 2, Guest 3, Jesus (LOL!), fox hunter, Lowkeyloki, Destiny Quill, Devlinn Reiko, Guest 4, Guest 5, Wooden-Horse_, and everyone on tumblr, the sincerest of thanks and all my gratitude. I apologize for my lack of replies, but please know that I read every one of your reviews and appreciate them wholeheartedly.

Thanks again! Feedback would be amazing. -heart-


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